THE 


GUARDIAN, 


WITH 


NOTES,  AND  A GENERAL  INDEX^ 


VIRFPQUK  AOaUILET  EUNDO.” VIRG. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


M.  WALLIS  WOODWARD  & Co.,  11  MINOR  STREET. 

STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON. 


1835. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/guardianwithnoteOOaddi 


CONTENTS. 


20. 


Original  Dedications. 

The  Author’s  Address— Importance  of  Au- 
thors—Plan  of  the  Work.  . . . Steele. 

History  of  the  Author— the  Lizard  Family  

Remarks  on  Collins’  Discourse  on  Free-think- 
ing  Steele  or  Berkeley. 

On  Dedications — the  Author  to  himself.  ..  Pope. 
Family  of  the  Lizards — the  Females.  . Steele. 

The  same — Sir  Harry  Lizard.  . . 

Conversation  on  Marriage — Smith’s  Letters 

to  Sir  Francis  Walsingham.  . . 

On  Passion— Story  of  Licenciado  Esquivel 

and  Aguire. 

Character  of  Mr.  CharwelfeHiis  Economies — 

Letter  on  Free-thinking.  . . . 

On  Dress — Letter  of  Simon  Sleek  on  that 

subject. 

On  Reproof. Oay 

Letter  on  the  Obsequium  Catholicon,  and 

Cures  by  it Pope. 

On  Criticism,  and  the  Artifices  of  Censorious 

Critics Steele. 

Account  of  the  Younger  Sons  of  the  Lizards.  

Account  of  two  thoughtless  young  Men — 

Fashion  of  driving  Carriages.  . . 

Love  Venses — Easy  Writing.  . . 

On  Poetry — Songs— Song  Writing.  . 

On  Illicit  Love-Story  of  a French  Knight  

Thoughts  on  the  Prospect  of  Death— Psalm  by 

Sir  Philip  Sidney.  ....  

On  the  Influence  of  Vice — Insensibility  to 
Virtuous  Sentiment — Henry  IV.  of  France, 

his  Prayer  before  Battle.  . . . 

On  Duelling 

Excellency  and  Superiority  of  the  Scriptures. 

On  a Country  Life — Pastoral  Poetry.  . 

On  the  same.  . . . . . 

Jack  Lizard’s  Return  from  the  University — 

On  Pedantry — Conversation.  . . 

On  Lord  Verulam’s  History  of  Henry  VII.  Budgell. 
All  Women  are  Ladies— Letter  recommending 
a Wife  to  Sir  Harry  Lizard.  . . Steele. 

Grounds  to  expect  a Future  State  proved.  Berkeley. 
On  Pastoral  Poetry.  ....  Steele. 
Essay  on  Laughter— several  Kinds  of  Laugh- 
ters  

On  Pastoral  Poetry 

Various  Schemes  of  Happiness.  . . Budgell. 

The  Subject  of  Pastoral  Poetry  treated  in  an 

Allegory.  ...  . . Steele. 

On  the  Merits  of  the  Tragedy  of  Cato— Pro- 
logue and  Epilogue 

Conversation  on  Fine  Gentlemen.  . 


The  Pineal  Gland  discovered— Voyage  through 
several Berkeley. 

Letter  on  Punning Birch. 

On  the  Tragedy  of  Othello— Story  of  Don 
Alonzo Hughes. 

On  Pretty  Gentlemen— Letter  from  a Gentle- 
man-like Man Steele. 

Observations  on  the  Pineal  Gland  of  a Free- 
thinker  Berkeley. 

On  the  Pastorals  of -Pope  and  Philips.  . Pope. 

Censure  of  a Passage  in  the  Examiner.  Steele. 

Gifts  necessary  to  a Story-teller.  . . 

Opinions  on  the  Characters  of  Lucia  and  Mar- 
cia in  Cato. 


No. 

44.  Conduct  of  certain  Old  Fellows  in  Gray’s  Inn 

Gardens. Steele. 

45  Miseriesof  Seduction— Cyrus  and  Panthea.  

46.  History  of  Madam  Mainlenon.  . . 

47.  The  same  continued 

48.  concluded.  ....  

49.  Essay  on  Pleasures,  Natural  and  Fantastical 

Pleasures  of  Imagination.  . . Berkeley. 

50.  Visit  to  the  Country — Offensive  Barber — Ro- 

mantic Pleasures.  ....  Steele 

51.  On  Sacred  Poetry — David’s  Lamentation  over 

Jonathan 

52.  Colbert’s  Conversation  with  the  French  King 

on  the  Power  of  the  Dutch  . . 

53.  Strictures  oji  the  Examiner’s  Liberties  with 

the  Character  of.  ....  

.54.  On  Equality  in  Happiness  and  Misery.  . 

55.  Importance  of  Christianity  to  Virtue.  . Berkeley. 
5(3.  Reproof  and  Reproach,  a Vision.  . Parvell. 

57.  Of  Courtship— Onestions  and  Rules  for.  . Steele. 

58.  Public  Spirit — Letter  from  a Hackney  Author 

— from  a Patriotic  Drinker — from  an  Osten- 
tatious Lady 

59.  Letters  on  Cato. 

60.  On  the  various  Modes  of  reading  Books.  

61.  On  Cruelty  to  the  Brute  Creation — Fable  of 

Pilpay. Pope. 

62.  Visit  to  Westminster  School — Utility  of  Pub- 

lic Seminaries.  ....  Berkeley. 

63.  Strictures  on  the  Examiner — Extract  from 

Lucas’  Practical  Christianity.  . . Steele. 

64.  Petition  of  the  Artificers,  of  Esau  Ringwood, 

Susannah  How-d’ye-call,and  Hugh  Pounce 
— Letter  on  Cato.  ....  

65.  Improper  Conduct  at  Church — Poverty  of  the 

Clergy  hurtful  to  Religion.  , . 

66.  Common  Fame,  a Vision.  . . . Parvell. 

67.  Fate  of  Poets— Recommendation  of  Tom 

D’Urfey Addison. 

68.  Letters  on  the  Wife  proposed  to  Sir  Harry 

Lizard.  Steele. 

69.  On  Fenelon’s  Demonstration  of  the  Existence, 

Wisdom,  and  Omnipotence  of  God.  

70.  Analogy  between  St.  Paul’s  and  the  Christian 

Church — Narrowness  of  Free-thinkers.  Berkeley. 

71.  Observations  on  the  Increase  of  Lions — Cha- 

racter of  a Lion.  ....  Addison. 

72.  On  the  Oxford  TerrEB-filius — Abuse  of  his 

Office. Steele 


73. 


On  the  Improper  Interference  of  Parents  in 
the  Disposal  of  their  Children — Letters  on 

Passion— Peevishness — Shyness.  . 

Extract  from  a Sermon  of  Bishop  Beveridge.  

Extracts  from  the  Sermons  of  two  Divines.  

Endeavour  to  reconcile  the  Landed  and  Tra- 
ding Interests 

On  the  Shortsightedness  of  Critics,  Misers, 

and  Free-thinkers.  . . . Berkeley. 

Receipt  to  make  an  Epic  Poem.  . Pope. 

On  the  Miseries  of  the  Poor — Recommenda- 
tion of  their  Case Steele. 

Strictures  on  the  Examiner.  . . . 

Soliloquy  of  an  Athenian  Libertine — Prayer 

of  one  who  had  been  a Libertine.  . 

Death  and  Character  of  Peer  the  Comedian  

On  Happiness — obstructed  by  the  Free-think- 
ers. ......  Berkeley 


CONTENTS. 


No. 

84. 


85. 


87 


100. 

101. 

102. 

103. 

104. 

105. 

106. 
107. 


108. 

109. 

110. 

m. 

112. 

113. 

114. 

115. 

116. 

117. 

118. 

119. 

120. 
121. 

122. 

123. 

124. 

125. 

126. 

127. 

128. 
129. 


Silly  Habits  of  Cofffee-liouse  Orators— Twist- 
ing off  Buttons Steele. 

On  Scandal — Letter  from  a Sufferer  by  Ca- 
lumny—from  Daniel  Button.  . . 

Classical  Descriptions — of  the  War  Horse  in 

Job 

General  Taste  for  Intrigue — Immorality  of 

Servants  ; Character  of  a Master.  . 

Superiority  of  the  Christian  Ideas  of  the  Be- 
ing and  Attributes  of  a God.  . Berkeley. 

Christian  Ideas  of  a Future  State.  . 

Strictures  on  the  Examiner — Letter  to  one 
of  the  Writers  in  the  Guardian.  . Steele. 
Account  of  the  Short  Club.  . . Pope. 

The  same,  Characters  of  the  Members.  

Thoughts  on  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul — 
on  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees.  . • Wotton. 
On  Education.  . . . . f Steele. 

Adventure  of  a Strolling  Company — Letters 
on  Lions — Coffee-houses — a Virtuoso — on 

the  Terrae-filius.  . . . 

A Proposal  for  Honorary  Rewards— Coins 
and  Medals.  . . . Addison. 

Letter  from  Simon  Softly,  complaining  of  a 

Widow — Advice  to  him.  . . 

Notice  of  the  Taller  and  Spectator— Scheme 

of  a Lion’s  Head  at  Button’s.  . . 

Essay  on  National  Justice — a Persian  Story. 

On  the  Tucker —Naked  Necks— Laws  of  Ly- 

curgus— Position  of  Venus.  

Letters  from  France — Gayety  of  the  French. 

Variableness  of  the  English  Climate.  . 

On  the  Fireworks— Serious  Reflections  on 

the  same  ....  

Story  of  a French  Gentleman— Letter  on  the 

Manners  of  the  French.  . . 

Exhibition  of  the  Charity  Children— Propo- 
sals to  extend  our  Charities.  . . 

Vision  of  Aurelia  with  a Window  in  her 

Breast.  

Letter  from  a Projector,  offering  himself  as 
a Nomenclator — Letter  from  Messrs.  Dit- 

ton  and  Whiston 

Institution  of  the  Tall  Club.  . . 

Correspondence  on  the  'Pucker.  . . 

On  the  Language  of  Treaty — Improprieties 

instanced 

Improper  Conduct  of  the  British  Youth — 

Love  of  Knowledge — Solomon’s  Choice.  

Art  of  Flying— Letter  from  Dtedalus— Re- 
marks on  Modern  Diedalists.  . . 

Letter  from  a Citizen  in  his  Honey-moon— 

Tom  Truelove’s  Courtship.  . 

Erection  of  the  Lion’s  Head— Remarks  on 

Lions— on  Petticoats.  . . . 

On  Criticism— Strada’s  Prolusion.  . 

Matters  of  Dress  not  to  be  introduced  in  the 

Pulpit— Letter  on  Naked  Breasts.  . 

Happiness  of  living  under  the  Protection  of 

Omnipotence.  . • . . . 

Information  from  a Lioness— Offer  of  an  Out- 
riding Lion 

Translation  of  Strada’s  Prolusion.  

On  Female  Gamesters.  . . . 

Account  of  the  Silent  Club.  . . Pearce. 

On  Female  Undressing.  . . . Addison. 

Sequel  of  Strada’s  Prolusion.  . . . 

On  Seducers  of  Innocence — Letter  to  one 

from  a Mother 

Letters  from  a University  Lion— on  Horns — 

Burlesque  Lyric— Visit  to  the  Lion.  . 

Pleasures  of  Spring— Music  of  Birds.  . Tickell. 
The  Attractions  of  Friendship  and  Benevo- 
lence. . . . . . • Berkeley. 

The  Court  of  Venus  from  Claudian.  . Eusden. 

On  the  Demolition  of  Dunkirk.  . Steele. 

On  Anger  Revenge,  Duelling  . - 


No. 

130.  Merit  of  the  Speculative  and  Active  Part  of 

Mankind Bartlette 

131.  On  Habits  of  Sloth  and  Vice.  . . Steele. 

132.  Letters  from  a Young  Man  in  Sickness— 

from  the  Husband  of  a Woman  that  is 
never  in  the  Wrong— from  the  Wife  of  one 
of  the  Dumb  Club— on  Naked  Breasts.  

133.  Duel  between  Sir  Edward  Sackville  and  Lord 

Bruce , . 

134.  The  Lion,  how  treated  by  the  Town— Com- 

plaint of  a Wife’s  Dress.  . . Addison. 

135.  Best  Way  to  bear  Calumny.  . . 

136.  Various  Causes  of  Death — Country  Bill  of 

Mortality 

137.  Advantages  of  Illustrious  Birth — how’  Con- 

taminated— Pride  of  Mr.  Ironside.  . 

138.  On  Regard  for  Posterity.  . . . 

139.  History  of  Lions — Story  of  Androcles.  

140.  On  Female  Dress— Letter  to  Pope  Clement 

on  the  Tucker.  ..... 

141.  On  Wit— Life  of  the  Author.  . . Steele. 

142.  Danger  of  Masquerades— Letter  from  a Deal- 

er in  Fig  Leaves 

143.  Account  of  the  Terrible  Club.  . . 

144.  Variety  of  Humour  among  the  English.  

145.  Letters  from  a Swaggerer — concerning  a 

Challenge — .Advertisement.  . . 

146.  History  of  Lions — Story  of  Sir  George  Da- 
vis.   

. Folly  of  Extravagance  in  New-married  Per- 
sons  

118.  History  of  Sanlon  Barsisa.  . . . 

149.  Genius  requisite  to  Excel  in  Dress.  . Oay. 

150.  On  Paternal  Affection— Story  of  a French 
Nobleman.  .....  Steele. 

151.  Letter  from  the  Fa*’ier  of  a young  Rake.  

152.  Comparative  Merit  of  the  two  Sexes,  an 

.Allegory Addison. 

153.  Pride  not  made  for  Man.  . . . 

154.  Lucifer’s  Account  of  a Masquerade.  . 

155.  Utility  of  Learning  to  the  Female  Sex.  

156.  History  and  Economy  of  Ants.  . . 

1.57.  The  same,  concluded 

158.  Proper  Employment  of  Time  ; a Vision.  

159.  Story  of  Miss  Betty,  cured  of  her  Vanity.  

160.  Conjectures  of  concealed  Meanings  under 

the  History  of  the  Ants.  . . . 

161.  Proper  Sense  and  Notion  of  Honour.  ■ • 

162.  Humour  of  a Blunt  Squire — Complaisance — 

Story  of  Schacabac 

163.  Letter  from  an  Insulted  Chaplain — Poem  by 

Sir  Thomas  More 

164.  On  Translations — Speech  of  Plutofrom  Clau- 

dian  Eusden. 

165.  Miseries  of  Folly  and  Vice  at  the  Head  of  a 

Family Addison. 

166.  On  Charity— The  Guardian  in  search  of  the 

Philosopher’s  Stone.  ....  

167.  Story  of  Helim  and  Abdallah.  . . 

168.  Character  of  a Mistress  of  a Family  from  the 

Book  of  Proverbs — Translation  from  Ana- 
creon—Letter  from  Sfeele  on  the  Exa- 
miner   Steele. 

169.  Contemplation  of  the  Heavenly  Bodies,  Sea- 

sons, &c 

170.  Extract  from  General  Maxims  of  Trade.  

171.  Good  done  by  the  Author’s  Speculations — 

Letter  from  a short  Writer— in  Defence  of 
Bare  Necks.  . . . • . . 

172.  On  the  Invention  of  Letters— Poem  in  Praise 

of  Writing.  .....  

173.  On  laying  out  Gardens— Whimsical  Form  of 

Yews Pope. 

174.  On  the  Manners  of  the  Bath  Visitors.  Steele.  1 

175.  On  Boyle  s Lecture— Derham’s  Physico-The- 

ology 

176.  Three  Letters  intended  for  the  Guardian.  Hughes 


ORIGINAL  DEDICATIONS 


' VOLUME  THE  FIRST. 


TO  LIEUTENANT-GENERAL  CADOGAN. 


Sir, — In  the  character  of  Guardian,  it  be- 
hoves  me  to  do  honour  to  such  as  have  deserved 
well  of  society,  and  laid  out  worthy  and  manly 
qualities,  in  the  service  of  the  public.  No  man 
has  more  eminently  distinguished  himself  this 
way,  than  Mr.  Cadogan ; with  a contempt  of 
pleasure,  rest,  and  ease,  when  called  to  the  du- 
ties of  your  glorious  profession,  you  have  lived 
in  a familiarity  with  dangers,  and  with  a strict 
eye  upon  the  final  purpose  of  the  attempt,  have 
wholly  disregarded  what  should  befall  yourself 
in  the  prosecution  of  it ; thus  has  life  risen  to 
you,  as  fast  as  you  resigned  it,  and  every  new 
hour,  for  having  so  frankly  lent  the  preceding 
moments  to  the  cause  of  justice  and  of  liberty, 
has  come  home  to  you,  improved  with  honour  : 
This  happy  distinction,  which  is  so  very  peculiar 
to  you,  with  the  addition  of  industry,  vigilance, 
patience  of  labour,  thirst,  and  hunger,  in  com- 
mon with  the  meanest  soldier,  has  made  your 


present  fortune  unenvied.  For  the  public  always 
reap  greater  advantage  from  the  example  of 
successful  merit,  than  the  deserving  man  him- 
self  can  possibly  be  possessed  of ; your  country 
knows  how  eminently  you  excel  in  the  several 
parts  of  military  skill,  whether  in  assigning  the 
encampment,  accommodating  the  troops,  lead- 
ing to  the  charge,  or  pursuing  the  enemy  : the 
retreat  being  the  only  part  of  the  profession 
which  has  not  fallen  within  the  experience  of 
those,  who  learned  their  warfare  under  the  duke 
of  Marlborough.  But  the  true  and  honest  pur- 
pose of  this  epistle  is  to  desire  a place  in  your 
friendship,  without  pretending  to  add  any  thing 
to  your  reputation,  who,  by  your  own  gallant 
actions,  have  acquired  that  your  name  through 
all  ages  shall  be  read  with  honour,  wherever 
mention  shall  be  made  of  that  illustrious  cap- 
tain. I am,  sir,  your  most  obedient,  and  most 
humble  servant,  THE  GUARDIAN. 


VOLUME  THE  SECOND. 


TO  MR.  PULTENEY.* 


Sir, — The  greatest  honour  of  human  life,  is 
to  live  well  with  men  of  merit ; and  I hope  you 
will  pardon  me  the  vanity  of  publishing,  by  this 
means,  my  happiness  in  being  able  to  name  you 
among  my  friends.  The  conversation  of  a gen- 
tleman, that  has  a refined  taste  of  letters,  and  a 
disposition  in  which  those  letters  found  nothing 
to  correct,  but  very  much  to  exert,  is  a good 
fortune  too  uncommon  to  be  enjoyed  in  silence. 
In  others,  the  greatest  business  of  learning  is  to 
weed  the  soil ; in  you,  it  had  nothing  else  to  do, 
but  to  bring  forth  fruit.  Affability,  complacency, 
and  generosity  of  heart,  which  are  natural  to 
you,  wanted  nothing  from  literature,  but  to  re- 
fine and  direct  the  application  of  them.  After 
I have  boasted  I had  some  share  in  your  fami- 
liarity, I know  not  how  to  do  you  the  justice  of 
celebrating  you  for  the  choice  of  an  elegant  and 


♦ Afterwards  Earl  of  Bath. 


worthy  acquaintance,  with  whom  you  live  in 
the  happy  communication  of  generous  senti- 
ments, which  contribute  not  only  to  your  own 
mutual  entertainment  and  improvement,  but  to 
the  honour  and  service  of  your  country.  Zeal 
for  the  public  good  is  the  characteristic  of  a man 
of  honour,  and  a gentleman,  and  must  take  place 
of  pleasures,  profits,  and  all  other  private  gratifi- 
cations. Whoever  wants  this  motive  is  an  open 
enemy,  or  an  inglorious  neuter  to  mankind,  in 
proportion  to  the  misapplied  advantages  with 
which  nature  and  fortune  have  blessed  him. 
‘But  you  have  a soul  animated  with  nobler  views, 
and  know  that  the  distinction  of  wealth  and 
plenteous  circumstances,  is  a lax  upon  an  honest 
mind,  to  endeavour,  as  much  as  the  occurrences 
of  life  will  give  him  leave,  to  guard  the  proper- 
ties of  others,  and  be  vigilant  for  the  good  of  his 
fellow-subjects. 

This  generous  inclination,  no  man  possesses 
in  a warmer  degree  than  yourself;  which,  that 
5 1* 


6 


ORIGINAL  DEDICATIONS. 


heaven  would  reward  with  long  possession  of 
that  reputation  into  which  you  have  made  so 
early  an  entrance,  the  reputation  of  a man  of 
sense,  a good  citizen,  and  agreeable  companion,  I 


a disinterested  friend,  and  an  unbiassed  patriot, 
is  the  hearty  prayer  of,  sir,  your  most  obliged, 
and  most  obedient,  humble  servant, 

THE  GUARDIAN. 


THE  PUBLISHER 

It  is  a justice  which  Mr.  Ironside  owes  gen- 
tlemen who  have  sent  him  their  assistances 
from  time  to  time,  in  the  carrying  on  of  this 
work,  to  acknowledge  that  obligation,  though 
at  the  same  time  he  himself  dwindles  into  the 
character  of  a mere  publisher,  by  making  the 
acknowledgment.  But  whether  a man  does  it 
out  of  justice  or  gratitude,  or  any  other  virtuous 
reason  or  not,  it  is  also  a prudential  act  to  take 
no  more  upon  a man  than  he  can  bear.  Too 
large  a credit  has  made  many  a bankrupt,  but 
taking  even  less  than  a man  can  answer  with 
ease,  is  a sure  fund  for  extending  it  whenever 
his  occasions  require.  All  those  papers  which 
are  distinguished  by  the  mark  of  a Hand,  were 
written  by  a gentleman  who  has  obliged  the 
world  with  productions  too  sublime  to  admit 
that  the  author  of  them  should  receive  any  ad- 
dition to  his  reputation,  from  such  loose  occa- 
sional thoughts  as  make  up  these  little  treatises  ; 
for  which  reason  his  name  shall  be  concealed. 
Those  which  are  marked  with  a Star,  were 
composed  by  Mr.  Budgell.  That  upon  Dedica- 
tions, with  the  Epistle  of  an  Author  to  Himself, 
the  Club  of  little  Men,  the  Receipt  to  make  an 
Epic  Poem,  the  paper  of  the  Gardens  of  Alci- 
nous,  and  the  Catalogue  of  Greens,  that  against 
Barbarity  to  Animals,  and  some  others,  have 


TO  THE  READER. 

Mr.  Pope  for  their  author.  Now  I mention  this 
gentleman,  I take  this  opportunity,  out  of  the 
affection  I have  for  his  person,  and  respect  to 
his  merit,  to  let  the  world  know,  that  he  is  now 
translating  Homer’s  Iliad  by  subscription.  He 
has  given  good  proof  of  his  ability  for  the  Work, 
and  the  men  of  greatest  wit  and  learning  of  this 
nation,  of  all  parties,  are,  according  to  their  dif- 
ferent abilities,  zealous  encouragers,  or  solicitors 
for  the  work. 

But  to  my  present  purpose.  The  letter  from 
Gnatho  of  tlie  Cures  performed  by  Flattery,  and 
that  of  comparing  Dress  to  Criticism,  are  Mr 
Gay’s.  Mr.  Martin,  Mr.  Philips,  Mr.  Tickell, 
Mr.  Carey,  Mr.  Eusden,  Mr.  Ince,  and  Mr. 
Hughes,  have  obliged  the  town  with  entertain- 
ing discourses  in  these  volumes ; and  Mr.  Berke- 
ley, of  Trinity  College  in  Dublin,  has  embel- 
lished them  with  many  excellent  arguments  in 
honour  of  religion  qind  virtue.  Mr.  Parnell  will  I 
hope  forgive  me,  that  without  his  leave  I mention, 
that  I have  seen  his  hand  on  the  like  occasion. 
There  are  some  discourses  of  a less  pleasing  na. 
ture  which  relate  to  the  divisions  amongst  us,  and 
such  (lest  any  of  these  gentlemen  should  suffer 
from  unj ust  suspicion,')  I must  impute  to  the  right 
author  of  them,  who  is  one  Mr.Steele,  of  Langun- 
nor,  in  the  county  of  Carmarthen,  in  South  W ales. 


THE  GUARDIAN 


No.  1.]  Thursday,  March  12,  1713. 

Ille  quern  requiris.  Mart.  Epig.  ii.  1. 

He,  whom  you  seek. 

There  is  no  passion  so  universal,  however 
diversified  or  disguised  under  different  forms 
and  appearances,  as  the  vanity  of  being  known 
to  the  rest  of  mankind,  and  communicating  a 
man’s  parts,  virtues,  or  qualifications,  to  the 
world : this  is  so  strong  upon  men  of  great 
genius,  that  they  have  a restless  fondness  for 
satisfying  the  world  in  the  mistakes  they  might 
possibly  be  under,  with  relation  even  to  their 
physiognomy.  Mr.  Airs,  that  excellent  pen- 
man, has  taken  care  to  affix  his  own  image 
opposite  to  the  title-page  of  his  leaped  treatise, 
wherein  he  instructs  the  youth  of  this  nation  to 
arrive  at  a flourishing  hand.  The  author  of 
The  Key  to  Interest,  both  simple  and  compound, 
containing  practical  rules  plainly  expressed  in 
words  at  length  for  all  rates  of  interest,  and 
times  of  payment,  for  what  time  soever,  makes 
up  to  us  the  misfortune  of  his  living  at  Chester, 
by  following  the  example  of  the  above-men- 
tioned Airs,  and  coming  up  to  town,  over 
against  his  title-page,  in  a very  becoming  pe- 
riwig, and  a flowing  robe  or  mantle,  inclosed 
in  a circle  of  foliages ; below  his  portraiture, 
for  our  farther  satisfaction  as  to  the  age  of  that 
useful  writer,  is  subscribed,  '■Johannes  Ward 
de  civitat.  Cestria,  cetat.  sues  58.  An.  Dom. 
1706.’  The  serene  aspect  of  these  writers, 
joined  with  the  great  encouragement  I observe 
is  given  to  another,  or  what  is  indeed  to  be 
suspected,  in  which  he  indulges  himself,  con- 
firmed me  in  the  notion  I have  of  the  prevalence 
of  ambition  this  way.  The  author  whom  I hint 
at  shall  be  nameless,  but  his  countenance  is 
communicated  to  the  public  in  several  views 
and  aspects  drawn  by  the  most  eminent  paint- 
ers, and  forwarded  by  engravers,  artists  by  way 
of  mezzotinto,  etchers,  and  the  like.  There 
was,  I remember,  some  years  ago,  one  John 
Gale,  a fellow  that  played  upon  a pipe,  and 
diverted  the  multitude  by  dancing  in  a ring 
they  made  about  him,  whose  face  became  gene- 
rally known,  and  the  artists  employed  their 
skill  in  delineating  his  features,  because  every 
man  was  a judge  of  the  similitude  of  them. 
There  is  little  else,  than  what  this  John  Gale 
arrived  at,  in  the  advantages  men  enjoy  from 
common  fame ; yet  do  I fear  it  has  always  a 
part  in  moving  us  to  exert  ourselves  in  such 
things  as  ought  to  derive  their  beginnings  from 
nobler  considerations.  But  I think  it  is  no 
great  matter  to  the  public  what  is  the  incentive 
which  makes  men  bestow  time  in  their  service, 
provided  there  be  any  thing  useful  in  what 
they  produce ; I shall  proceed  therefore  to  give 
an  account  of  my  intended  labours,  not  without 


some  hope  of  having  my  vanity,  at  the  end  of 
them,  indulged  in  the  sort  above-mentioned. 

I should  not  have  assumed  the  title  of  Guar- 
dian, had  I not  maturely  considered,  that  the 
qualities  necessary  for  doing  the  duties  of  that 
character,  proceed  from  tlie  integrity  of  the 
mind  more  than  the  excellence  of  the  under- 
standing. The  former  of  these  qualifications  it 
is  in  the  power  of  every  man  to  arrive  at;  and 
the  more  he  endeavours  that  way,  the  less  will 
he  want  the  advantages  of  the  latter  ; to  be  faith- 
ful, to  be  honest,  to  be  just,  is  what  you  will 
demand  in  the  choice  of  your  Guardian ; or  if 
you  find  added  to  this,  that  he  is  pleasant,  in- 
genious, and  agreeable,  there  will  overflow 
satisfactions  w'hich  make  for  the  ornament,  if 
not  so  immediately  to  the  use  of  your  life.  As 
to  the  diverting  part  of  this  paper,  by  what  as- 
sistance I shall  be  capacitated  for  that,  as  well 
as  what  proofs  I have  given  of  my  behaviour  as 
to  integrity  in  former  life,  will  appear  from  my 
history  to  be  delivered  in  ensuing  discourses. 
The  main  purpose  of  the  work  shall  be,  to  pro- 
tect the  modest,  the  industrious  ; to  celebrate  the 
wise,  the  valiant ; to  encourage  the  good,  the 
pious ; to  confront  the  impudent,  the  idle  ; to 
contemn  the  vain,  the  cowardly ; and  to  disap- 
point the  wicked  and  profane.  This  work  can- 
not be  carried  on  but  by  preserving  a strict 
regard,  not  only  to  the  duties  but  civilities  of 
life,  with  the  utmost  impartiality  towards  things 
and  persons.  The  unjust  application  of  the 
advantages  of  breeding  and  fortune,  is  the 
source  of  all  calamity,  both  public  and  private; 
the  correction,  therefore,  or  rather  admonition, 
of  a Guardian  in  all  the  occurrences  of  a various 
being,  if  given  with  a benevolent  spirit,  would 
certainly  be  of  general  service. 

In  order  to  contribute  as  far  as  I am  able  to 
it,  I shall  publish  in  respective  papers  whatever 
I think  may  conduce  to  the  advancement  of 
the  conversation  of  gentlemen,  the  improve- 
ment of  ladies,  the  wealth  of  traders,  and  the 
encouragement  of  artificers.  The  circumstance 
relating  to  those  who  excel  in  mechanics,  shall 
be  considered  with  particular  application.  It 
is  not  to  be  immediately  conceived  by  such  as 
have  not  turned  themselves  to  reflections  of  that 
kind,  that  Providence,  to  enforce  and  endear  the 
necessity  of  social  life,  has  given  one  man’s 
hands  to  another  man’s  head,  and  the  carpenter, 
the  smith,  the  joiner,  are  as  immediately  neces- 
sary to  the  mathematician,  as  my  amanuensis 
will  be  to  me,  to  write  much  fairer  than  I can 
myselfi  I am  so  well  convinced  of  this  truth, 
that  I shall  have  a particular  regard  to  media, 
nics;  and  to  show  my  honour  for  them,  I shall 
place  at  their  head  the  painter.  This  gentle- 
man is,  as  to  the  execution  of  his  work,  a me- 
chanic ; but  as  to  his  conceotion,  his  spirit,  and 


8 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


No.  2. 


design,  he  is  hardly  below  even  the  poet,  in 
liberal  art.  It  will  be  from  these  considerations 
useful  to  make  the  world  see  the  affinity  be- 
tween all  works  which  arc  beneficial  to  man- 
kind is  much  nearer,  than  the  illiberal  arrogance 
of  scholars  will  at  all  times  allow.  But  I am 
from  experience  convinced  of  the  importance 
of  mechanic  heads,  and  shall  therefore  take 
them  all  into  my  care,  from  Rowley,  who  is 
improving  the  globes  of  the  earth  and  heaven 
in  Fleet-street,  to  Bat.  Pigeon,  the  hair  cutter 
in  the  Strand. 

But  it  will  be  objected  upon  what' pretensions 
I take  upon  me  to  put  in  for  the  prochain  ami, 
or  nearest  friend  of  all  the  world.  How  my 
head  is  accomplished  for  this  employment  to- 
wards the  public,  from  the  long  exercise  of  it 
in  a private  capacity,  will  appear  by  reading 
me  the  two  or  three  next  days  with  diligence 
and  attention.  There  is  no  other  paper  in  being 
which  tends  to  this  purpose.  They  are  most 
of  them  histories,  or  advices  of  public  transac- 
tions ; but  as  those  representations  affect  the 
passions  of  my  readers,  I shall  sometimes  take 
care,  the  day  after  a formgn  mail,  to  give  them 
an  account  of  what  it  has  brought.  The  parties 
amongst  us  are  too  violent  to  make  it  possible 
to  pass  them  by  without  observation.  As  to 
these  matters,  I shall  be  impartial,  though  I 
cannot  be  neuter : I am,  with  relation  to  the 
government  of  the  church,  a tory,  with  regard 
to  the  state,  a whig. 

The  charge  of  intelligence,  the  pain  in  com- 
piling and  digesting  my  thoughts  in  proper 
style,  and  the  like,  oblige  me  to  value  my  paper 
a half-penny  above  all  other  half  sheets.*  And 
all  persons  who  have  anything  to  communicate 
to  me,  are  desired  to  direct  their  letters  (postage 
paid,)  to  Nestor  Ironside,  Esq.  at  Mr.  Tonson’s 
in  the  Strand.  I declare  beforehand,  that  I will 
at  no  time  be  conversed  with  any  other  way 
than  by  letter : for  as  I am  an  ancient  man,  I shall 
find  enough  to  do  to  give  orders  proper  for  their 
service,  to  whom  I am,  by  will  of  their  parents. 
Guardian,  though  I take  that  to  be  too  narrow 
a scene  for  me  to  pass  my  whole  life  in.  But 
I have  got  my  wards  so  well  off  my  hands,  and 
they  are  so  able  to  act  for  themselves,  that  I 
have  little  to  do  but  give  a hint,  and  all  that  I 
desire  to  be  amended  is  altered  accordingly. 

My  design  upon  the  whole  is  no  less  than  to 
make  the  pulpit,  the  bar,  and  the  stage,  all  act 
in  concert  in  the  care  of  piety,  justice,  and 
virtue  ; for  I am  past  all  the  regards  of  this  life, 
and  have  nothing  to  manage  with  any  person 
or  party,  but  to  deliver  myself  as  becomes  an 
old  man  with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  and  one 
who  thinks  he  is  passing  to  eternity.  All  sor- 
rows which  can  arrive  at  me  are  comprehended 
in  the  sense  of  guilt  and  pain  ; if  I can  keep 
clear  of  these  two  evils,  I shall  not  be  appre- 
hensive of  any  other.  Ambition,  lust,  envy, 
and  revenge,  are  excrescences  of  the  mind, 
which  I have  cut  off  long  ago : but  as  they  are 
excrescences  which  do  not  only  deform,  but 
also  torment  those  on  whom  they  grow,  I shall 
do  all  I can  to  persuade  all  others  to  take  the 
same  measures  for  their  cure  which  I have. 


No.  2.]  Friday,  March  13,  1713. 

The  readiest  way  to  proceed  in  my  great 
undertaking,  is  to  explain  who  I am  myself^ 
that  promise  to  give  the  town  a daily  half, 
sheet : I shall  therefore  enter  into  my  own  his- 
tory, without  losing  any  time  in  preamble.  I 
was  born  in  the  year  1642,  at  a lone  house 
within  half  a mile  of  the  town  of  Brentford,  in 
the  county  of  Middlesex;  my  parents  were  of 
ability  to  bestow  upon  me  a liberal  education, 
and  of  a humour  to  think  that  a great  happiness 
even  in  a fortune  which  was  but  just  enough  to 
keep  me  above  want.  In  my  sixteenth  year  I 
was  admitted  a commoner  of  Magdalene-haJI, 
in  Oxford.  It  was  one  great  advantage,  among 
many  more,  which  men,  educated  at  our  uni- 
versities, do  usually  enjoy  above  others,  that 
they  often  contract  friendships  there,  which  are 
of  service  to  them  in  all  the  parts  of  their  future 
life.  This  good  fortune  happened  to  me ; for 
during  the  time  of  my  being  an  under-graduate, 
I became  intimately  acquainted  with  Mr.  Am- 
brose Lizard,  who  was  a fellow-commoner  of 
the  neighbouring  college.  I have  the  honour 
to  be  well  known  to  Mr.  Josiah  Pullen,  of  our 
hall  above-meritioned  ; and  attribute  the  florid 
old  age  I now  enjoy  to  ray  constant  morning 
walks  up  Hedington-hill,  in  his  cheerful  com- 
pany. If  the  gentleman  be  still  living,  I hereby 
give  him  m}^  humble  service.  But  as  I was  going 
to  say,  I contracted  in  my  early  youth,  an  in- 
timate friendship  with  young  Mr.  Lizard,  of 
Northamptonshire.  He  was  sent  for  a little 
before  he  was  of  bachelor’s  standing,  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Mrs.  Jane  Lizard,  an  heiress,  whose 
father  would  have  it  so  for  the  sake  of  the  name. 
Mr.  Ambrose  knew  nothing  of  it  till  he  came 
to  Lizard-hall,  on  Saturday  night,  saw  the 
young  lady  at  dinner  the  next  day,  and  was 
married,  by  order  of  his  father,  sir  Ambrose, 
between  eleven  and  twelve  the  Tuesday  follow- 
ing. Some  years  after,  when  my  friend  came 
to  be  sir  Ambrose  himself,  and  finding  upon 
proof  of  her,  that  he  had  lighted  upon  a good 
wife,  he  gave  the  curate  who  joined  their  hands 
the  parsonage  of  Welt,  not  far  off  Wellingbo- 
rough. My  friend  was  married  in  the  year 
sixty-two,  and  every  year  following,  for  eighteen 
years  together,  I left  the  college  (except  that 
year  wherein  I was  chosen  fellow  of  Lincoln,) 
and  sojourned  at  sir  Ambrose’s  for  the  months 
of  June,  July,  and  August.  I remember  very 
well  that  it  was  on  the  fourth  of  July,  in  the 
year  1674,  that  I was  reading  in  an  arbour  to 
my  friend,  and  stopt  of  a sudden,  observing  he 
did  not  attend.  ‘ Lay  by  your  book,’  said  he, 
‘ and  let  us  take  a turn  in  the  grass-walk,  for  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you.’  After  a silence 
for  about  forty  yards,  walking  both  of  us  with 
our  eyes  downward,  one  big  to  hear,  the  other 
to  speak  a matter  of  great  importance,  sir  Am- 
brose expressed  himself  to  this  effect : ‘ My 

good  friend,’  said  he,  ‘you  may  have  observed 
that  from  the  first  moment  I was  in  your  com- 
pany at  Mr.  Willis’s  chambers,  at  University 
College,  I ever  after  sought  and  courted  you, 
that  inclination  towards  you  has  improved 
from  similitude  of  manners,  if  I may  so  say 
when  I tell  you  I have  not  observed  in  any  mem 


• Two  pence  was  the  original  price  of  this  paper. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


9 


No.  3.] 

a greater  candour  and  simplicity  of  mind  than 
in  yourself.  You  are  a man  that  are  not  in- 
clined to  launch  into  the  world,  but  prefer  secu- 
rity and  ease,  in  a collegiate  or  single  life,  to 
going  into  the  cares  which  necessarily  attend  a 
public  character,  or  that  of  a master  of  a fami- 
ly. You  see  within,  my  son  Marmaduke,  my 
only  child  ; I have  a thousand  anxieties  upon 
me  concerning  him,  the  greater  part  of  which 
I would  transfer  to  you,  and  when  I do  so,  I 
would  make  it,  in  plain  English,  worth  your 
while.’  He  would  not  let  me  speak,  but  pro- 
ceeded to  inform  me,  that  he  had  laid  the  whole 
scheme  of  his  affairs  upon  that  foundation.  As 
soon  as  we  went  into  the  house,  he  gave  me  a 
bill  upon  his  goldsmith,*  in  London,  of  two 
thousand  pounds,  and  told  me,  with  that  he  had 
purchased  me,  with  all  the  talents  I was  master 
of,  to  be  of  his  family,  to  educate  his  son,  and 
to  do  all  that  should  ever  lie  in  my  power  for 
the  service  of  him  and  his  to  my  life’s  end,  ac- 
cording to  such  powers,  trusts,  and  instructions, 
as  I should  hereafter  receive. 

The  reader  will  here  make  many  speeches  for 
me,  and  without  doubt  suppose  I told  my  friend 
he  had  retained  me  with  a fortune  to  do  that 
which  I should  have  thought  myself  obliged  to 
by  friendship:  but,  as  he  was  a prudent  man, 
and  acted  upon  rules  of  life,  which  were  least 
liable  to  the  variation  of  humour,  time,  or  sea- 
son, I was  contented  to  be  obliged  by  him  his 
own  way  ; and  believed  I should  never  enter  into 
any  alliance  which  should  divert  me  from  pur- 
suing the  interests  of  his  family,  of  which  I 
should  hereafter  understand  myself  a member. 
Sir  Ambrose  told  me,  he  should  lay  no  injunc- 
tion upon  me,  which  should  be  inconsistent  with 
any  inclination  I might  have  hereafter  to  change 
my  condition.  All  he  meant  was,  in  general,  to 
insure  his  family  from  that  pest  of  great  estates, 
the  mercenary  men  of  business  who  act  for  them, 
and  in  a few  years  become  creditors  to  their 
masters  in  greater  sums  than  half  the  income 
of  their  lands  amounts  to,  though  it  is  visible 
all  which  gave  rise  to  their  wealth  was  a slight 
salary,  for  turning  all  the  rest,  both  estate  and 
credit  of  that  estate,  to  the  use  of  their  princi- 
pals. To  this  purpose  we  had  a very  long  con- 
ference that  evening,  the  chief  point  of  which 
was,  that  his  only  child  Marmaduke  was  from 
that  hour  under  my  care,  and  I was  engaged  to 
turn  all  my  thoughts  to  the  service  of  the  child 
in  particular,  and  all  the  concerns  of  the  family 
in  general.  My  most  excellent  friend  was  so 
well  satisfied  with  my  behaviour,  that  he  made 
me  his  executor,  and  guardian  to  his  son.  My 
own  conduct  during  that  time,  and  my  manner 
of  educating  his  son  Marmaduke  to  manhood, 
and  the  interest  I had  in  him  to  the  time  of  his 
death  also,  with  my  present  conduct  towards  the 
numerous  descendants  of  my  old  friend,  will 
make,  possibly,  a series  of  history  of  common 
life,  as  useful  as  the  relations  of  the  more  pomp- 
ous passages  in  the  lives  of  princes  and  states- 
men. The  widow  of  sir  Ambrose,  and  the  no 
less  worthy  relict  of  sir  Marmaduke,  are  both 
living  at  this  time. 

I am  to  let  the  reader  know,  that  his  chief 


* A banker  at  this  time  was  called  a goldsmith. 

B 


entertainment  will  arise  from  what  passes  at  the 
tea-table  of  my  lady  Lizard.  That  lady  is  now 
in  the  forty-sixth  year  of  her  age,  was  married 
in  the  beginning  of  her  sixteenth,  is  blessed  with 
a numerous  offspring  of  each  sex,  no  less  than 
four  sons  and  five  daughters.  She  was  the  mo- 
ther of  this  large  family  before  she  arrived  at 
her  thirtieth  year:  about  which  time  she  lost 
her  husband,  sir  Marmaduke  Lizard,  a gentle- 
man  of  great  virtue  and  generosity.  He  left  be- 
hind him  an  improved  paternal  estate  of  six 
thousand  pounds  a-year  to  his  eldest  son,  and 
or^e  year’s  revenue,  in  ready  money,  as  a por- 
tion to  each  younger  child.  My  lady’s  Chris- 
tian name  is  Aspasia ; and  as  it  may  give  a cer- 
tain dignity  to  our  style  to  mention  her  by  that 
name,  we  beg  leave  at  discretion  to  say  lady 
Lizard,  or  Aspasia,  according  to  the  matter  we 
shall  treat  of.  When  she  shall  be  consulting 
about  her  cash,  her  rents,  her  household  affairs, 
we  will  use  the  more  familiar  name ; and  when 
she  is  employed  in  the  forming  the  minds  and 
sentiments  of  her  children,  exerting  herself  in 
the  acts  of  charity,  or  speaking  of  matters  of  re- 
ligion or  piety,  for  the  elevation  of  style  we  will 
use  the  word  Aspasia.  Aspasia  is  a lady  of 
great  understanding  and  noble  spirit.  She  has 
passed  several  years  in  widowhood,  with  that 
abstinent  enjoyment  of  life,  which  has  done  ho- 
nour to  her  deceased  husband,  and  devolved  re- 
putation upon  her  children.  As  she  has  both 
sons  and  daughters  marriageable,  she  is  visited 
by  many  on  that  account,  but  by  many  more  for 
her  own  merit.  As  there  is  no  circumstance  in 
human  life,  which  may  not  directly  or  indirectly 
concern  a woman  thus  related,  there  will  be 
abundant  matter  offer  itself  from  passages  in 
this  family  to  supply  my  readers  with  diverting, 
and  perhaps  useful  notices  for  their  conduct  in 
all  the  incidents  of  human  life.  Placing  money 
on  mortgages,  in  the  funds,  upon  bottomry,  and 
almost  all  other  ways  of  improving  the  fortune 
of  a family,  are  practised  by  my  lady  Lizard, 
with  the  best  skill  and  advice. 

The  members  of  this  family,  their  cares,  pas- 
sions, interests,  and  diversions,  shall  be  repre- 
sented, from  time  to  time,  as  news  from  the  tea- 
table  of  so  accomplished  a woman  as  the  intelli- 
gent and  discreet  lady  Lizard. 


No.  3.]  Saturday^  March  14,  1713. 

duicquid  esi  illud,  quod  sentit,  quod  sapit,  quod  vult, 
quod  viget,  caeleste  et  divinum  est,  obeamquerem  aeter- 
num  sit  necesse  est.  Cicero. 

Whatever  that  be,  which  thinks,  which  understands, 
which  wills,  which  acts,  it  is  something  celestial  and 
divine,  and,  upon  that  account,  must  necessarily  be 
eternal. 

I AM  diverted  from  the  account  I was  giving 
the  town  of  my  particular  concerns,  by  casting 
my  eye  upon  a treatise  which  I could  not  over- 
look without  an  inexcusable  negligence,  and 
want  of  concern  for  all  the  civil,  as  well  as  re- 
ligious interests  of  mankind.  This  piece  has^  for 
its  title,  A Discourse  of  Free-thinking,  occasion- 
ed by  the  rise  and  growth  of  a sect  called  Free- 
thinkers.  The  author  very  methodically  enter® 


10 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


upon  his  argument,  and  says,  ‘ by  free-thinking, 
I mean  the  use  of  the  understanding  in  endea- 
vouring to  find  out  the  meaning  of  any  proposi- 
tion whatsoever,  in  considering  the  nature  of 
the  evidence  for  or  against,  and  in  judging  of  it 
according  to  the  seeming  force  or  weakness  of 
the  evidence.’  As  soon  as  he  has  delivered  this 
definition,  from  which  one  would  expect  he  did 
not  design  to  show  a particular  inclination  for 
or  against  any  thing  before  he  had  considered 
it,  he  gives  up  all  title  to  the  character  of  a 
free-thinker,  with  the  most  apparent  prejudice 
against  a body  of  men,  whom  of  all  other  a 
good  man  would  be  most  careful  not  to  violate,  1 
mean  men  in  holy  orders.  Persons  who  have 
devoted  themselves  to  the  service  of  God,  are 
venerable  to  all  who  fear  him ; and  it  is  a cer- 
tain characteristic  of  a dissolute  and  ungovern- 
ed mind,  to  rail,  or  speak  disrespectfully  of  them 
in  general.  It  is  certain,  that  in  so  great  a 
crowd  of  men,  some  wull  intrude  who  are  of 
tempers  very  unbecoming  their  function:  but 
because  ambition  and  avarice  are  sometimes 
lodged  in  that  bosom  which  ought  to  be  the 
dwelling  of  sanctity  and  devotion,  must  this  un- 
reasonable author  vilify  the  whole  order  ? He 
has  not  taken  the  least  care  to  disguise  his  be- 
ing an  enemy  to  the  persons  against  whom  he 
writes,  nor  any  where  granted  that  the  institu- 
tion of  religious  men  to  serve  at  the  altar,  and 
instruct  such  who  are  not  as  wise  as  himself,  is 
at  all  necessary  or  desirable;  but  proceeds, 
without  the  least  apology,  to  undermine  their 
credit,  and  frustrate  tlieir  labours  : whatever 
clergymen,  in  disputes  against  each  other,  have 
unguardedly  uttered,  is  here  recorded  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  alfect  religion  itself,  by  wresting 
concessions  to  its  disadvantage  from  its  own 
teachers.  If  this  be  true,  as  sure  any  man  that 
reads  the  discourse  must  allow  it  is,  and  if  reli- 
gion is  the  strongest  tie  of  human  society,  in 
what  manner  are  we  to  treat  this  our  common 
enemy,  who  promotes  the  growth  of  such  a sect 
as  he  calls  free-thinkers  ? He  that  should  burn 
a house,  and  justify  the  action  by  asserting  he 
is  a free  agent,  would  be  more  excusable  than 
this  author  in  uttering  what  he  has  from  the 
right  of  a free-thinker.  But  there  are  a set  of 
dry,  joyless,  dull  fellows,  who  want  capacities 
and  talents  to  make  a figure  amongst  mankind 
upon  benevolent  and  generous  principles,  that 
think  to  surmount  their  own  natural  meanness, 
by  laying  offences  in  the  way  of  such  as  make 
it  their  endeavour  to  excel  upon  the  received 
maxims  and  honest  arts  of  life.  If  it  were  pos- 
sible to  laugh  at  so  melancholy  an  affair  as  what 
hazards  salvation,  it  w’ould  be  no  unpleasant  in- 
quiry to  ask,  what  satisfactions  they  reap,  what 
extraordinary  gratification  of  sense,  or  what  de- 
licious libertinism  this  sect  of  free-thinkers  en- 
joy, after  getting  loose  of  the  laws  which  con- 
fine the  passions  of  other  men  ? Would  it  not 
be  a matter  of  mirth  to  find,  after  all,  that  the 
heads  of  this  growing  sect  are  sober  wretches, 
who  prate  whole  evenings  over  coffee,  and  have 
not  themselves  fire  enough  to  be  any  further  de- 
bauchees, than  merely  in  principle?  These 
sages  of  iniquity  are,  it  seems,  themselves  only 
specplatively  wicked,  and  are  contented  that  all 
the  abandoned  young  men  of  the  age  are  kept 


[No.  3. 

safe  from  reflection  by  dabbling  in  their  rhap- 
sodies, without  tasting  the  pleasures  for  which 
their  doctrines  leave  them  unaccountable.  Thus 
do  heavy  mortals,  only  to  gratify  a dry  pride  of 
heart,  give  up  the  interests  of  another  world, 
without  enlarging  their  gratifications  in  this : 
but  it  is  certain  there  are  a sort  of  men  that  can 
puzzle  truth,  but  cannot  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of 
it.  This  same  free-thinker  is  a creature  unac- 
quainted with  the  emotions  which  possess  great 
minds  when  they  are  turned  for  religion,  and  it 
is  apparent  that  he  is  untouclied  with  any  such 
sensation  as  the  rapture  of  devotion.  Whatever 
one  of  these  scorners  may  think,  they  certainly 
want  parts  to  be  devout ; and  a sense  of  piety 
towards  heaven,  as  well  as  the  sense  of  any  thing 
else,  is  lively  and  warm  in  proportion  to  the  fa- 
culties of  the  head  and  heart.  This  gentleman 
may  be  assured  he  has  not  a taste  for  what  he 
pretends  to  decry,  and  the  poor  man  is  certainly 
more  a blockhead  than  an  atheist.  I must  re- 
peat, that  he  wants  capacity  to  relish  what  true 
piety  is ; and  he  is  as  capable  of  writing  an  he- 
roic poem,  as  making  a fervent  prayer.  When 
men  are  thus  low  and  narrow  in  their  apprehen- 
sions of  things,  and  at  the  same  time  vain,  they 
are  naturally  led  to  think  every  thing  they  do 
not  understand,  not  to  be  understood.  Their 
contradiction  to  what  is  urged  by  others,  is  a 
necessary  consequence  of  their  incapacity  to  re- 
ceive it.  The  atheistical  fellows  who  appeared 
the  last  age  did  not  serve  the  devil  for  nought, 
but  revelled  in  excesses  suitable  to  their  princi- 
ples ; while  in  these  unhappy  days  mischief  is 
done  for  mischief’s  sake.  These  free-thinkers, 
who  lead  the  lives  of  recluse  students,  for  no 
other  purpose  but  to  disturb  the  sentiments  of 
other  men,  put  me  in  mind  of  the  monstrous  re- 
creation  of  those  late  wild  youths,  who,  without 
provocation,  had  a wantonness  in  stabbing  and 
defacing  those  they  met  with.  When  such  wri 
ters  as  this,  who  have  no  spirit  but  that  of  ma- 
lice,  pretend  to  inform  the  age,  mohocks  and 
cut-throats  may  well  set  up  for  wits  and  men  of 
pleasure. 

It  will  be  perhaps  expected,  that  I should 
produce  some  instances  of  the  ill  intention  ot 
this  free-thinker,  to  support  the  treatment  I 
here  give  him.  In  his  fifty-second  page  he  says, 

‘ Secondly,  The  priests  throughout  the  world 
differ  about  scriptures,  and  the  authority  of 
scriptures.  The  Bramins  have  a book  of  scrip- 
ture called  the  Shaster.  The  Persees  have  their 
Zundavastaw.  The  Bonzes  of  China  have  books 
written  by  the  disciples  of  Fo-he,  whom  they 
call  the  “God  and  Saviour  of  the  world,  who 
was  born  to  teach  the  way  of  salvation,  and  to 
give  satisfaction  for  all  men’s  sins.”  The  Tala- 
poins  of  Siam  have  a book  of  scripture  written 
by  Sommonocodom,  who,  the  Siamese  say,  “ was 
born  of  a virgin,  and  was  the  God  expected  by 
the  universe.”  The  Derviseshave  their  Alcoran.’ 

I believe  there  is  no  one  will  dispute  the 
author’s  great  impartiality  in  setting  down  the 
accounts  of  these  different  religions.  And  I 
think  it  is  pretty  evident  he  delivers  the  matter 
with  an  air  that  betrays  that  the  history  of 
‘ one  born  of  a virgin’  has  as  much  authority 
with  him  from  St.  Sommonocodom  as  from  St. 
Matthew.  Thus  he  treats  revelation.  Then  as 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


11 


No.  4] 


to  philosophy,  he  tells  you,  p.  136,  ‘ Cicero  pro- 
duces this  as  an  instance  of  a probable  opinion, 
that  they  who  study  philosophy  do  not  believe 
there  are  any  Gods and  then,  from  considera- 
tion of  various  notions,  he  affirms  Tully  con- 
cludes, ‘ that  there  can  be  nothing  after  death.’ 
As  to  what  he  misrepresents  of  Tully,  the 
short  sentence  on  the  head  of  this  paper  is 
enough  to  oppose;  but  who  can  have  patience 
to  reflect  upon  the  assemblage  of  impostures, 
among  which  our  author  places  the  religion  of 
his  country  ? As  for  my  part,  I cannot  see  any 
possible  interpretation  to  give  this  work,  but  a 
design  to  subvert  and  ridicule  the  authority  of 
scripture.  The  peace  and  tranquillity  of  the 
nation,  and  regards  even  above  those,  are  so 
much  concerned  in  this  matter,  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  express  sufficient  sorrow  for  the  offender, 
or  indignation  against  him.  But  if  ever  man 
deserved  to  be  denied  the  common  benefits  of  air 
and  water,  it  is  the  author  of  A Discourse  of 
Free- thinking. 


No.  4.]  Monday,  March  16,  1713. 

It  matters  not  how  false  or  forc’d, 

So  the  best  things  be  said  o’  th’  worst ; 

It  goes  for  nothing  when  ’tis  said, 

Only  the  arrow’s  drawn  to  th’  head. 

Whether  it  be  a swan  or  goose 
They  level  at : so  shepherds  use 
To  set  the  same  mark  on  the  hip 
Both  of  their  sound  and  rotten  sheep. 

Hudibras. 

Though  most  things  which  are  wrong  in 
their  own  nature  are  at  once  confessed  and  ab- 
solved in  that  single  word  Custom ; yet  there 
are  some,  which  as  they  have  a dangerous  ten- 
dency, a thinking  man  will  the  less  excuse  on 
that  very  account.  Among  these  I cannot  but 
reckon  the  common  practice  of  dedications, 
which  is  of  so  much  the  worse  consequence,  as 
it  is  generally  used  by  the  people  of  politeness, 
and  whom  a learned  education  for  the  most  part 
ought  to  have  inspired  with  nobler  and  juster 
sentiments.  This  prostitution  of  praise  is  not 
only  a deceit  upon  the  gross  of  mankind,  who 
take  their  notion  of  characters  from  the  learned  ; 
but  also  the  better  sort  must  by  this  means  lose 
some  part  at  least  of  that  desire  of  fame  which 
is  the  incentive  to  generous  actions,  when  they 
find  it  promiscuously  bestowed  on  the  meritori- 
ous and  undeserving  ; nay,  the  author  himself, 
let  him  be  supposed  to  have  ever  so  true  a value 
for  the  patron,  can  find  no  terms  to  express  it, 
but  what  have  been  already  used,  and  rendered 
suspected  by  flatterers.  Even  truth  itself  in  a 
dedication  is  like  an  honest  man  in  a disguise 
or  vizor-mask,  and  will  appear  a cheat  by  being 
dressed  so  like  one.  Though  the  merit  of  the 
person  is  beyond  dispute,  I see  no  reason  that 
because  one  man  is  eminent,  therefore  another 
has  a right  to  be  impertinent,  and  throw  praises 
in  his  face.  ’Tis  just  the  reverse  of  the  practice 
of  the  ancient  Romans,  when  a person  was  ad- 
vanced to  triumph  for  his  services.  As  they 
hired  people  to  rail  at  him  in  that  circumstance 
to  make  him  as  humble  as  they  could,  we  have 
fellows  to  flatter  him,  and  make  him  as  proud 
as  they  can.  Supposing  the  writer  not  to  be 


mercenary,  yet  the  great  man  is  no  more  in 
reason  obliged  to  thank  him  for  his  picture  in  a 
dedication,  than  to  thank  a painter  for  that  on  a 
sign-post;  except  it  be  a less  injury  to  touch 
the  most  sacred  part  of  him,  his  character,  than 
to  make  free  with  his  countenarjce  only.  I 
should  think  nothing  justified  me  in  thi.s  point, 
but  the  patron’s  permission  beforehand,  that  I 
should  draw  him,  as  like  as  I could;  whereas 
most  authors  proceed  in  this  affair  just  as  a 
dauber  I have  heard  of,  who,  not  being  able  to 
draw  portraits  after  the  life,  was  used  to  paint 
faces  at  random,  and  look  out  afterwards  for 
people  whom  he  might  persuade  to  be  like  them. 
To  express  my  notion  of  the  thing  in  a word  : 
to  say  more  to  a man  than  one  thinks,  with  a 
prospect  of  interest,  is  dishonest ; and  with- 
out  it,  foolish.  And  whoever  has  had  success 
in  such  an  undertaking,  must  of  necessity,  at 
once  think  himself  in  his  heart  a knave  for 
having  done  it,  and  his  patron  a fool  for  having 
believed  it. 

I have  sometimes  been  entertained  with  con- 
sidering dedications  in  no  very  common  light. 
By  observing  what  qualities  our  writers  think 
it  will  be  most  pleasing  to  others  to  compli- 
ment them  with,  one  may  form  some  judgment 
which  are  most  so  to  themselves ; and  in  con- 
sequence, W'hat  sort  of  people  they  are.  With- 
out this  view  one  can  read  very  few  dedications 
but  will  give  us  cause  to  wonder  how  such 
things  came  to  be  said  at  all,  or  how  they  were 
said  to  such  persons  ? I have  known  a hero 
complimented  upon  the  decent  majesty  and 
state  he  assumed  after  victory,  and  a nobleman 
of  a different  character  applauded  for  his  con- 
descension to  inferiors.  This  would  have  seemed 
very  strange  to  me,  but  that  I happened  to  know 
the  authors.  He  who  made  the  first  compliment 
was  a lofty  gentleman,  whose  air  and  gait  dis- 
covered w’hen  he  had  published  a new  book ; 
and  the  other  tippled  every  night  with  the  fel- 
lows who  laboured  at  the  press  while  his  own 
writings  were  working  off.  It  is  observable  of 
the  female  poets,  and  ladies  dedicatory,  that 
here  (as  elsewhere)  they  far  exceed  us  in  any 
strain  or  rant.  As  beauty  is  the  thing  that  sex 
are  piqued  upon,  they  speak  of  it  generally  in 
a more  elevated  style  than  is  used  by  the  men. 
They  adore  in  the  same  manner  as  they  would 
be  adored.  So  when  the  authoress  of  a famous 
modern  romance*  begs  a young  nobleman’s 
permission  to  pay  him  her  ‘ kneeling  adorations,’ 

I am  far  from  censuring  the  expression,  as  some 
critics  would  do,  as  deficient  in  grammar  or 
sense ; but  I reflect,  that  adorations  paid  in  that 
posture  are  what  a lady  might  expect  herself, 
and  my  wonder  immediately  ceases.  These, 
when  they  flatter  most,  do  but  as  they  would 
be  done  unto : for,  as  none  are  so  much  con- 
cerned at  being  injured  by  calumnies  as  they 
who  are  readiest  to  cast  them  upon  their  neigh- 
bours, so  it  is  certain  none  are  so  guilty  of 
flattery  to  others  as  those  who  most  ardently 
desire  it  themselves. 

What  led  me  into  these  thoughts  was  a dedi- 
cation I happened  upon  this  morning.  The 


* Mrs.  Manley,  authoress  of  the  Memoirs  from  the 
New  Atalantis. 


12 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


1 


reader  must  understand  that  I treat  the  least 
instances  or  remains  of  ingenuity  with  respect, 
in  what  places  soever  found,  or  under  whatever 
circumstances  of  disadvantage.  From  this  love 
to  letters  I have  been  so  happy  in  my  searches 
after  knowledge,  that  I have  found  invalued 
repositories  of  learning  in  the  lining  of  band- 
boxes.  I look  upon  these  pasteboard  edifices, 
adorned  with  the  fragments  of  the  ingenious, 
with  the  same  veneration  as  antiquaries  upon 
ruined  buildings,  whose  walls  preserve  divers 
inscriptions  and  names,  which  are  no  where 
else  to  be  found  in  the  world.  This  morning, 
when  one  of  the  lady  Lizard’s  daughters  was 
looking  over  some  hoods  and  ribands,  brought 
by  her  tire-woman,  with  great  care  and  dili- 
gence, I employed  no  less  in  examining  the  box 
which  contained  them  ; it  was  lined  with  cer- 
tain scenes  of  a tragedy,  written  (as  appeared 
by  part  of  the  title  there  extant)  by  one  of  the 
fair  sex.  What  was  most  legible  was  the  de- 
dication ; which,  by  reason  of  the  largeness  of 
the  characters,  was  least  defaced  by  those  gothic 
ornaments  of  flourishes  and  foliage,  wherewith 
the  compilers  of  these  sort  of  structures  do  of- 
ten industriously  obscure  the  works  of  the 
learned.  As  much  of  it  as  I could  read  with 
any  ease,  I shall  communicate  to  the  reader,  as 
follows. 

‘ ***  Though  it  is  a kind  of  profanation  to 
approach  your  grace  with  so  poor  an  offering, 
yet  when  I reflect  how  acceptable  a sacrifice  of 
first-fruits  was  to  Heaven,  in  the  earliest  and 
purest  ages  of  religion,  that  they  v;ere  honoured 
with  solemn  feasts,  and  consecrated  to  altars  by 
a divine  command,  ***  upon  that  consideration, 
as  an  argument  of  particular  zeal,  I dedicate***. 
It  is  impossible  to  behold  you  without  adoring ; 
yet  dazzled  and  awed  by  the  glory  that  sur- 
rounds  you,  men  feel  a sacred  power,  that  re- 
fines. their  flames,  and  renders  them  pure  as 
those  we  ought  to  offer  to  the  Deity.  ***The 
shrine  is  worthy  the  divinity  that  inhabits  it. 
In  your  grace  we  see  what  woman  was  before 
she  fell,  how  nearly  allied  to  the  purity  and  per- 
fection of  angels.  And  we  adore  and  bless  the 
GLORIOUS  WORK  1’ 

Undoubtedly  these  and  other  periods  of  this 
most  pious  dedication,  could  not  but  convince 
the  duchess  of  what  the  eloquent  authoress  as- 
sures her  at  the  end,  that  she  was  her  servant 
with  most  ardent  devotion.  I think  this  a pat- 
tern of  a new  sort  of  style,  not  yet  taken  notice 
of  by  the  critics,  which  is  above  the  sublime, 
and  may  be  called  the  celestial ; that  is,  when 
the  most  sacred  phrases  appropriated  to  the  ho- 
nour of  the  Deity  are  applied  to  a mortal  of  good 
quality.  As  I am  naturally  emulous,  I cannot 
but  endeavour,  in  imitation  of  this  lady,  to  be 
the  inventor,  or,  at  least,  the  first  producer  of  a 
kind  of  dedication,  very  different  from  hers  and 
most  others,  since  it  has  not  a word  but  what 
the  author  religiously  thinks  in  it.  It  may  serve 
for  almost  any  book,  either  prose  or  verse,  that 
has  been,  is,  or  shall  be  published,  and  might 
run  in  this  manner. 

The  Author  to  himself. 

Most  honoured  Sir, — These  labours,  upon 
many  considerations,  so  properly  belong  to  none 


[No.  5. 

as  to  you.  First,  as  it  was  your  most  earnest 
desire  alone  that  could  prevail  upon  me  to  make 
them  public.  Then  as  I am  secure  (from  that 
constant  indulgence  you  have  ever  shown  to  all 
which  is  mine)  that  no  man  will  so  readily  take 
them  into  protection,  or  so  zealously  defend 
them.  Moreover,  there  is  none  can  so  soon  dis- 
cover the  beauties ; and  there  are  some  parts 
which  it  is  possible,  few  besides  yourself  are  ca- 
pable of  understanding.  Sir,  the  honour,  affec- 
tion,  and  value  I have  for  you  are  beyond  ex- 
pression ; as  great,  I am  sure,  or  greater,  than 
any  man  else  can  bear  you.  As  for  any  defects 
which  others  may  pretend  to  discover  in  you,  I 
do  faithfully  declare  I was  never  able  to  per- 
ceive them  ; and  doubt  not  but  those  persons 
are  actuated  purely  by  a spirit  of  malice  or  envy, 
the  inseparable  attendants  on  shining  merit  and 
parts,  such  as  I have  always  esteemed  yours  to 
be.  It  may  perhaps  be  looked  upon  as  a kind  of 
violence  to  modesty,  to  say  this  to  you  in  public  ; ; 

but  you  may  believe  me,  it  is  no  more  than  I i 

have  a thousand  times  thought  of  you  in  private. 
Might  1 follow  the  impulse  of  my  soul,  there  is 
no  subject  I could  launch  into  with  more  plea- 
sure than  your  panegyric.  But  since  something  i 
is  due  to  modesty,  let  me  conclude  by  telling  i 
you,  that  there  is  nothing  so  much  I desire  as 
to  know  you  more  thoroughly  than  I have  yet 
the  happiness  of  doing.  I may  then  hope  to  be 
capable  to  do  you  some  real  service  ; but  till 
then  can  only  assure  you,  that  I shall  continue  i 
to  be,  as  I am  more  than  any  man  alive,  dearest  i 
sir,  your  affectionate  friend,  and  the  greatest  of 
your  admirers. 

| 

No.  5.]  Tuesday,  March  17,  1713.  j 

Laudantursimili  prole  puerperae. 

Hor.  Lib.  4.  Od.  v.  23. 

The  mother’s  virtues  in  the  daughters  shine. 

I HAVE,  in  my  second  paper,  mentioned  the  I 
family  into  which  I was  retained  by  the  friend 
of  my  youth  ; and  given  the  reader  to  under- 
stand, that  my  obligations  to  it  are  such  as 
might  well  naturalize  me  into  the  interests  of 
it.  They  have,  indeed,  had  their  deserved  effect, 
and  if  it  were  possible  for  a man  who  has  never 
entered  into  the  state  of  marriage  to  know  the  ' 
instincts  of  a kind  father  to  an  honourable  and 
numerous  house,  I may  say  I have  done  it.  I 
do  not  know  but  my  regards,  in  some  considera- 
tions, have  been  more  useful  than  those  of  a fa- 
ther, and  as  I wanted  all  that  tenderness,  which 
is  the  bias  of  inclination  in  men  towards  their 
own  offspring,  I have  had  a greater  command 
of  reason  when  I was  to  judge  of  what  concern- 
ed iny  wards,  and  consequently  was  not  prompt- 
ed, by  my  partiality  and  fondness  towards  their  J 
persons,  to  transgress  against  their  interests.  ' 

As  the  female  part  of  a family  is  the  more  i 
constant  and  immediate  object  of  care  and  pro-  ■' 
tection,  and  the  more  liable  to  misfortune  or  dis-  : 
honour,  as  being  in  themselves  more  sensible  of  r 
the  former,  and,  from  custom  and  opinion,  for  i 
less  offences  more  exposed  to  the  latter  ; I shall  i 
begin  with  the  more  delicate  part  of  my  guar-  - 
dianship,  the  women  of  the  family  of  Lizard. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


13 


No.  5.] 

The  ancient  and  religious  lady,  the  dowager  of 
my  friend  sir  Ambrose,  has  for  some  time  es- 
tranged herself  from  conversation,  and  admits 
only  of  the  visits  of  her  own  family.  The  ob- 
servation, that  old  people  remember  best  those 
things  which  entered  into  their  thoughts  when 
their  memories  were  in  their  full  strength  and 
vigour,  is  very  remarkably  exemplified  in  this 
good  lady  and  myself  when  we  are  in  conversa- 
tion ; I choose,  indeed,  to  go  thither,  to  divert 
any  anxiety  or  weariness  which  at  any  time  I 
find  grow  upon  me  from  any  present  business 
or  care.  It  is  said,  that  a little  mirth  and  di- 
version  are  what  recreate  the  spirits  upon  those 
occasions ; but  there  is  a kind  of  sorrow  from 
which  I draw  a consolation  that  strengthens  my 
faculties  and  enlarges  my  mind  beyond  any 
thing  that  can  flow  from  merriment.  When  we 
meet,  we  soon  get  over  any  occurrence  which 
passed  the  day  before,  and  are  in  a moment  hur- 
ried  back  to  those  days  which  only  we  call  good 
ones ; the  passages  of  the  times  when  we  were 
in  fashion,  with  the  countenances,  behaviour, 
and  jollity,  so  much,  forsooth,  above  what  any 
appear  in  now,  are  present  to  our  imaginations, 
and  almost  to  our  very  eyes.  This  conversation 
revives  to  us  the  memory  of  a friend,  that  was 
more  than  a brother  to  me  ; of  a husband  that 
was  dearer  than  life  to  her:  discourses  about 
that  dear  and  worthy  man  generally  send  her 
to  her  closet,  and  me  to  the  despatch  of  some 
necessary  business  which  regards  the  remains, 
I would  say  the  numerous  descendants  of  my 
generous  friend.  I am  got,  I know  not  how, 
out  of  what  I was  going  to  say  of  this  lady ; 
which  was,  that  she  is  far  gone  towards  a better 
world  ; and  I mention  her  (only  with  respect  to 
this)  as  she  is  the  object  of  veneration  to  those 
who  are  derived  from  her  : whose  behaviour  to- 
wards her  may  be  an  example  to  others,  and 
make  the  generality  of  young  people  apprehend, 
that  when  the  ancient  are  past  all  offices  of  life, 
it  is  then  the  young  are  to  exert  themselves  in 
their  most  laudable  duties  towards  them. 

The  widow  of  sir  Marmaduke  is  to  be  consi- 
dered  in  a very  different  view.  My  lady  is  not 
in  the  shining  bloom  of  life,  but  at  those  years, 
wherein  the  gratifications  of  an  ample  fortune, 
those  of  pomp  and  equipage,  of  being  much  es- 
teemed, much  visited,  and  generally  admired, 
are  usually  more  strongly  pursued  than  in 
younger  days.  In  this  condition  she  might  very 
well  add  the  pleasures  of  courtship,  and  the 
grateful  persecution  of  being  followed  by  a 
crowd  of  lovers;  but  she  is  an  excellent  mother 
arid  great  economist;  which  considerations, 
joined  with  the  pleasure  of  living  her  own  waj', 
preserve  her  against  the  intrusion  of  love.  I 
will  not  say  that  my  lady  has  not  a secret  vanity 
in  being  still  a fine  woman,  and  neglecting  those 
addresses,  to  which  perhaps  we  in  part  owe  her 
constancy  in  that  her  neglect. 

Her  daughter  Jane,  her  eldest  child  of  that 
sex,  is  in  the  twenty-third  year  of  her  age,  a 
lady  who  forms  herself  after  the  pattern  of  her 
mother ; but  in  my  judgment,  as  she  happens 
to  be  extremely  like  her,  she  sometimes  makes 
her  court  unskilfully,  in  affecting  that  likeness 
in  her  very  mien,  which  gives  the  mother  an 
•measy  sense,  that  Mrs.  Jane  really  is  what  her 


parent  has  a mind  to  continue  to  be  ; but  it  is 
possible  I am  too  observing  in  this  particular, 
and  this  might  be  overlooked  in  them  both,  in 
respect  to  greater  circumstances  : for  Mrs.  Jane 
is  the  right  hand  of  her  mother  ; it  is  her  study 
and  constant  endeavour  to  assist  her  in  the  ma* 
nagement  of  her  househould,  to  keep  all  idle 
whispers  from  her,  and  discourage  them  before 
they  can  come  at  her  from  any  other  hand  ; to 
inforce  every  thing  that  makes  for  the  merit  of 
her  brothers  and  sisters  towards  her,  as  well  as 
the  diligence  and  cheerfulness  of  her  servants. 
It  is  by  Mrs.  Jane’s  management  that  the  whole 
family  is  governed,  neither  by  love  nor  fear,  but 
a certain  reverence  which  is  composed  of  both. 
Mrs.  Jane  is  what  one  would  call  a perfect  good 
young  woman  ; but  neither  strict  piety,  dili- 
gence  in  domestic  affairs,  or  any  other  avoca- 
tion, have  preserved  her  against  love,  which  she 
bears  to  a young  gentleman  of  great  expecta- 
tion, but  small  fortune  ; at  the  same  lime  that 
men  of  very  great  estates  ask  her  of  her  mother. 
My  lady  tells  her  that  prudence  must  give  way 
to  passion : so  that  Mrs.  Jane,  if  I cannot  ac- 
commodate the  matter,  must  conquer  more  than 
one  passion,  and  out  of  prudence  banish  the  man 
she  loves,  and  marry  the  man  she  hates. 

The  next  daughter  is  Mrs.  Annabella,  who 
has  a very  lively  wit,  a great  deal  of  good  sense, 
is  very  pretty,  but  gives  me  much  trouble  for 
her  from  a certain  dishonest  cunning  I know  in 
her ; she  can  seem  blind  and  careless,  and  full 
of  herself  only,  and  entertain  with  twenty  affect- 
ed vanities  ; whilst  she  is  observing  all  the  com- 
pany, laying  up  store  for  ridicule,  and,  in  a 
word,  is  selfish  and  interested  under  all  the 
agreeable  qualities  in  the  world.  Alas,  what 
shall  I do  with  this  girl ! 

Mrs.  Cornelia  passes  away  her  time  very 
much  in  reading,  and  that  with  so  great  an  at- 
tention, that  it  gives  her  the  air  of  a student, 
and  has  an  ill  effect  upon  her,  as  she  is  a fine 
young  woman  ; the  giddy  part  of  the  sex  will 
have  it  she  is  in  love ; none  will  allow  that  she 
affects  so  much  being  alone,  but  for  want  of  par- 
ticular company.  I have  railed  at  romances  be- 
fore her,  for  fear  of  her  falling  into  those  deep 
studies  : she  has  fallen  in  with  my  humour  that 
way  for  the  time,  but  I know  not  how',  my  im- 
prudent prohibition  has,  it  seems,  only  excited 
her  curiosity ; and  I am  afraid  she  is  better 
read  than  I know  of,  for  she  said  of  a glass  of 
water  in  which  she  was  going  to  wash  her  hands 
after  dinner,  dipping  her  fingers  with  a pretty 
lovely  air,  ‘ It  is  chrystalline.’  I shall  examine 
farther,  and  wait  for  clearer  proofs. 

Mrs.  Betty  is  (I  cannot  by  what  means  or 
methods  imagine)  grown  mightily  acquainted 
with  what  passes  in  the  town  ; she  knows  all 
that  matter  of  my  lord  such-a-one’s  leading  my 
lady  such-a-one  out  from  the  play  ; she  is  pro- 
digiously acquainted,  all  of  a sudden,  with  the 
world,  and  asked  her  sister  Jane  the  other  day 
in  an  argument,  ‘ Dear  sister,  how  should  you 
know  any  thing,  that  hear  nothing  but  what  we 
do  in  our  own  family  ?’  I do  not  much  like  her 
maid. 

Mrs.  Mary,  the  youngest  daughter,  whom 
they  rally  and  call  Mrs.  Ironside,  because  I have 
named  her  the  sparkler,  is  the  very  quintessence 
2 


14 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


of  good-nature  and  generosity ; she  is  the  perfect 
picture  of  her  grandfather ; and  if  one  can  ima- 
gine all  good  qualities  which  adorn  human  life 
become  feminine,  the  seeds,  nay,  the  blossom  of 
them,  are  apparent  in  Mrs.  Mary.  It  is  a weak- 
ness I cannot  get  over,  (for  how  ridiculous  is  a 
regard  to  the  bodily  perfections  of  a man  who 
is  dead)  but  I cannot  resist  my  partiality  to  this 
child,  for  being  so  like  her  grandfather  ; how 
often  have  I turned  from  her,  to  hide  the  melt- 
ing of  my  heart  when  she  has  been  talking  to 
me ! I am  sure  the  child  has  no  skill  in  it,  for 
artifice  could  not  dwell  under  that  visage  ; but 
if  I am  absent  a day  from  the  family,  she  is  sure 
to  be  at  my  lodging  the  next  morning  to  know 
what  is  the  matter. 

At  the  head  of  these  children,  who  have  very 
plentiful  fortunes,  provided  they  marry  with 
mine  and  their  mother’s  consent,  is  my  lady 
Lizard  ; who,  you  cannot  doubt,  is  very  well  vi- 
sited. Sir  William  Oger,  and  his  son  almost  at 
age,  are  frequently  at  our  house  on  a double 
consideration.  The  knight  is  willing,  (for  so 
he  very  gallantly  expresses  himself)  to  marry 
the  mother,  or  he  will  consent,  whether  that  be 
so  or  not,  that  his  son  Oliver  shall  take  any  one 
of  the  daughters  Noll  likes  best. 

Mr.  Rigburt,  of  the  same  county,  who  gives 
in  his  estate  much  larger,  and  his  family  more 
ancient,  offers  to  deal  with  us  for  two  daughters. 

Sir  Harry  Pandolf  has  writ  word  from  his 
seat  in  the  country,  that  he  also  is  much  inclined 
to  an  alliance  with  the  Lizards,  which  he  has 
declared  in  the  following  letter  to  my  lady  ; she 
showed  it  me  this  morning. 

‘ Madam, — I have  heard  your  daughters  very 
well  spoken  of : and  though  I have  very  great 
offers  in  my  own  neighbourhood,  and  heard  the 
small-pox  is  very  rife  at  London,  I will  send  my 
eldest  son  to  see  them,  provided,  that  by  your  la- 
dyship’s answer,  and  your  liking  of  the  rent-roll 
which  I send  herewith,  your  ladyship  assures 
me  he  shall  have  one  of  them,  for  I do  not  think 
to  have  my  son  refused  by  any  woman ; and  so, 
madam,  I conclude,  your  most  humble  servant, 
‘HENRY  PENDOLA.’ 


No.  6.]  Wednesday,  March  18,  1713. 

I HAVE  despatched  my  young  women,  and  the 
town  has  them  among  them  ; it  is  necessary  for 
the  elucidation  of  my  future  discourses,  which 
I desire  may  be  denominated,  as  they  are  the 
precepts  of  a Guardian,  Mr.  Ironside’s  Precau- 
tions ; I say  it  is,  after  what  has  been  already 
declared,  in  the  next  place  necessary  to  give  an 
account  of  the  males  of  this  worthy  family, 
whose  annals  I am  writing.  The  affairs  of 
women  being  chiefly  domestic,  and  not  made  up 
of  so  many  circumstances  as  the  duties  of  men 
are,  I fear  I cannot  despatch  the  account  of  the 
males  under  my  care,  in  so  few  words  as  I did 
the  explanation  which  regarded  my  women. 

Sir  Harry  Lizard,  of  the  county  of  Northamp- 
ton, son  and  heir  of  the  late  sir  Marmaduke,  is 
now  entered  upon  the  twenty-sixth  year  of  his 
age,  and  is  now  at  his  seat  in  the  country. 


[No.  6. 

The  estate  at  present  in  his  hands  is  above 
three  thousand  a-year,  after  payment  of  taxes 
and  all  necessary  charges  whatsoever.  He  is  a 
man  of  good  understanding,  but  not  at  all  what 
is  usually  called  a man  of  shining  parts.  His 
virtues  are  much  greater  than  accomplishments, 
as  to  his  conversation.  But  when  you  come  to 
consider  his  conduct  with  relation  to  his  man- 
ners and  fortune,  it  would  be  a very  great  injury 
not  to  allow  him  [to  be]  a very  fine  gentleman. 
It  has  been  carefully  provided  in  his  education, 
that  he  should  be  very  ready  at  calculations. 
This  gives  him  a quick  alarm  inwardly  upon 
all  undertakings  ; and  in  a much  shorter  time 
than  is  usual  with  men  who  are  not  versed 
in  business,  he  is  master  of  the  question  before 
him,  and  can  instantly  inform  himself  with  great 
exactness  in  the  matter  of  profit  or  loss  that 
shall  arise  from  any  thing  proposed  to  him.  The 
same  capacity,  joined  to  an  honest  nature,  makes 
him  very  just  to  other  men,  as  well  as  to  him- 
self. His  payments  are  very  punctual,  and  I 
dare  answer  he  never  did,  or  ever  will,  under- 
take any  piece  of  building,  or  any  ornamental 
improvement  of  his  house,  garden,  park,  or 
lands,  before  fhe  money  is  in  his  own  pocket 
wherewith  he  is  to  pay  for  such  undertaking. 
He  is  too  good  to  purchase  labourers  or  artifi- 
cers (as  by  this  means  he  certainly  could)  at  an 
under  rate  ; but  he  has  by  this  means  what  I 
think  he  deserves  from  his  superior  prudence, 
the  choice  of  all  who  are  most  knowing  and 
able  to  serve  him.  With  his  ready  money,  the 
builder,  mason,  and  carpenter,  are  enabled  to 
make  their  market  of  gentlemen  in  his  neigh- 
bourhood, wdio  inconsiderately  employ  them  ; 
and  often  pay  their  undertakers  by  sale  of  some 
of  their  land  ; whereas,  were  the  lands  on  which 
those  improvements  are  made,  sold  to  the  arti- 
ficers, the  buildings  would  be  rated  as  lumber  in 
the  purchase.  Sir  Harry  has  for  ever  a year’s 
income,  to  extend  his  charity,  serve  his  plea- 
sures, or  regale  his  friends.  His  servants,  his 
cattle,  his  goods,  speak  their  master  a rich  man. 
Those  about  his  person,  as  his  bailiff’,  the  groom 
of  his  chamber,  and  his  butler,  have  a cheerful, 
not  a gay  air  : the  servants  below  them  seem  to 
live  in  plenty,  but  not  in  wantonness.  As  sir 
Henry  is  a young  man,  and  of  an  active  dispo- 
sition, his  best  figure  is  on  horseback.  But  be- 
fore I speak  of  that,  I should  acquaint  you,  that 
during  his  infancy,  all  the  young  gentlemen  of 
the  neighbourhood  were  welcome  to  a part  of 
the  house,  which  was  called  the  school ; where, 
at  the  charge  of  the  family,  there  was  a gram- 
mar-master, a plain  sober  man,  maintained  (with 
a salary,  besides  his  diet,  of  fifty  pounds  a-year) 
to  instruct  all  such  children  of  gentlemen  or 
lower  people,  as  would  partake  of  his  education. 
As  they  grew  up,  they  were  allowed  to  ride  out 
with  him  upon  his  horses.  There  were  always 
ten  or  twelve  for  the  saddle  in  readiness  to  at- 
tend him  and  his  favourites,  in  the  choice  of 
whom  he  showed  a good  disposition,  and  dislri- 
buted  his  kindness  among  them  by  turns,  with 
great  good-nature.  All  horses,  both  for  the  sad- 
dle and  swift  draught,  were  very  well  bitted, 
and  a skilful  rider,  with  a riding-house,  wherein 
he  (the  riding  master)  commanded,  had  it  in 
orders  to  teach  any  gentleman’s  son  of  the  county 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


15 


No.  7.] 

that  would  please  to  learn  that  exercise.  We 
found  our  account  in  this  proceeding,  as  well  in 
real  profit,  as  in  esteem  and  power  in  the  coun- 
try ; tor  as  the  whole  shire  is  now  possessed  by 
' gentlemen  who  owe  sir  Harry  a part  of  educa- 
tion  which  they  all  value  themselves  upon,  (their 
horsemanship)  they  prefer  his  horses  to  all 
; others,  and  it  is  ten  per  cent,  in  the  price  of  a 
I steed,  which  appears  to  come  out  of  his  riding. 

' house. 

By  this  means  it  is,  that  sir  Harry,  as  I was 
going  to  say,  makes  the  best  figure  on  horse- 
back ; for  his  usual  hours  of  being  in  the  field 
are  well  known  ; and  at  those  seasons  the  neigh- 
bouring  gentlemen,  his  friends  and  school-fel- 
lows, take  a pleasure  in  giving  him  their  com- 
pany, with  their  servants  well  behaved,  and 
horses  well  commanded. 

I cannot  enough  applaud  sir  Harry  for  a pai-- 
ticular  care  in  liis  horses.  He  not  only  bits  all 
which  are  ridden,  but  also  all  which  are  for  the 
coach  or  swift  draught,  for  grace  adds  mightily 
to  the  price  of  strength  ; and  he  finds  his  ac- 
count in  it  at  all  markets,  more  especially  for 
the  coach  or  troop  horses,  of  which  that  county 
produces  the  most  strong  and  ostentatious.  To 
keep  up  a breed  for  any  use  whatever,  he  gives 
plates  for  tlie  best  performing  horse  in  every 
way  in  which  that  animal  can  be  serviceable. 
There  is  such  a prize  for  him  that  trots  best, 
such  for  the  best  walker,  such  for  the  best  gal- 
i loper,  such  for  the  best  pacer  ; then  for  him  who 

i draws  most  in  such  a lime  to  such  a place,  then 

to  him  that  carries  best  such  a load  on  his  back. 
He  deliglits  in  this,  and  has  an  admirable  fancy 
j in  the  dress  of  the  riders;  some  admired  coun- 

j try  girl  is  to  hold  the  prize,  her  lovers  to  trot, 

and  not  to  mend  their  pace  into  a gallop  when 
they  are  out-trotted  by  a rival ; some  known 
country  wit  to  come  upon  the  best  pacer;  these, 
and  the  like  little  joyful  arts,  gain  him  the  love 
, of  all  who  do  not  know  his  worth,  and  the  es- 

I teem  of  all  who  do.  Sir  Harry  is  no  friend  to 

I the  race-horse ; he  is  of  opinion  it  is  inhuman, 

that  animals  should  be  put  upon  their  utmost 
strength  and  mettle  for  our  diversion  only.  How'^- 
ever,  not  to  be  particular,  he  puts  in  for  the 
queen’s  plate  every  year,  with  orders  to  his  rider 
never  to  win  or  be  distanced ; and,  like  a good 
country  gentleman,  says,  it  is  a fault  in  all  mi- 
nistries, that  they  encourage  no  kind  of  horses 
but  those  which  are  swift. 

As  I write  lives,  I dwell  upon  small  matters, 
being  of  opinion  with  Plutarch,  that  little  cir- 
cumstances show  the  real  man  better  than 
things  of  greater  moment.  But  good  economy 
[ is  tlie  characteristic  of  the  Lizards.  I remem- 
I ber  a circumstance  about  six  years  ago,  that 
I gave  me  hopes  he  would  one  time  or  other  make 
a figure  in  parliament ; for  he  is  a landed  man, 
and  considers  his  interest,  though  he  is  such,  to 
be  impaired  or  promoted  according  to  the  state 
of  trade.  When  he  was  but  twenty  years  old, 
I took  an  opportunity  in  his  presence,  to  ask  an 
intelligent  woollen-draper,  what  he  gave  for  his 
shop  [at]  the  corner  of  Change-alley  ? The  shop 
is,  I believe,  fourteen  feet  long,  and  eight  broad. 
I was  answered,  ninety  pounds  a-year.  I took 
no  notice,  but  the  thought  descended  into  the 
breast  of  sir  Harry,  and  I saw  on  his  table  the 


next  morning,  a computation  of  the  value  of 
land  in  an  island,  consisting  of  so  many  miles, 
with  so  many  good  ports  ; the  value  of  each 
part  of  the  said  island,  as  it  lay  to  such  ports, 
and  produced  such  commodities.  The  whole 
of  his  working  was  to  know  why  so  few  yards 
near  the  Change,  was  so  much  better  than  so 
many  acres  in  Northamptonshire;  and  what 
those  acres  in  Northamptonshire  would  be 
worth,  were  there  no  trade  at  all  in  this  island. 

It  makes  rny  heart  ache,  when  I think  of 
this  young  man,  and  consider  upon  what  plain 
maxims,  and  in  what  ordinary  methods  men 
of  estate  may  do  good  wherever  they  are  seated, 
that  so  many  should  be  what  they  are  ! It  is 
certain,  that  the  arts  which  purchase  w'ealth  or 
fame,  will  maintain  them ; and  I attribute  the 
splendour  and  long  continuance  of  this  family, 
to  the  felicity  of  having  the  genius  of  the  found- 
er of  it  run  through  all  his  male  line.  Old  sir 
Harry,  the  great  grandfather  of  this  gentleman, 
has  written  in  his  own  hand  upon  all  the  deeds 
which  he  ever  signed,  in  the  humour  of  that  sen- 
tentious age,  this  sentence,  ‘ There  are  four  good 
mothers,  of  whom  are  often  born  four  unhappy 
daughters  ; truth  begets  hatred,  happiness  pride, 
security  danger,  and  familiarity  contempt.’ 


No.  7.]  Thursday^  March  19,  1713. 

Properat  cursu 

Vita  citato Senec^  Trag. 

With  speedy  step  life  posts  away. 

I THIS  morning  did  myself  the  honour  to  visit 
lady  Lizard,  and  took  my  chair  at  the  tea-table, 
at  the  upper  end  of  which  that  graceful  woman, 
with  her  daughters  about  her,  appeared  to  me 
with  greater  dignity  than  ever  any  figure,  either 
of  Venus  attended  by  the  graces,  Diana  with  her 
nymphs,  or  any  other  celestial  who  owes  her 
being  to  poetry. 

The  discourse  we  had  there,  none  being  pre- 
sent but  our  own  family,  consisted  of  private 
matters,  which  tended  to  the  establishment  of 
these  young  ladies  in  the  world.  My  lady,  I ob- 
served, had  a mind  to  make  mention  of  the  pro- 
posal to  Mrs.  Jane,  of  which  she  is  very  fond, 
and  I as  much  avoided,  as  being  equally  against 
it ; but  it  is  by  no  means  proper  the  young  la- 
dies should  observe  we  ever  dissent;  therefore 
I turned  the  discourse,  by  saying,  ‘ it  was  time 
enough  to  think  of  marrying  a young  lady,  who 
was  but  three-and-twenty,  ten  years  hence.’ 
The  whole  table  was  alarmed  at  the  assertion, 
and  the  Sparkler  scalded  her  fingers,  by  leaning 
suddenly  forward  to  look  in  my  face  : but  my 
business  at  present  was  to  make  my  court  to 
the  mother ; therefore,  without  regarding  the  re- 
sentment  in  the  looks  of  the  children,  ‘ Madam,’ 
said  I,  ‘ there  is  a petulant  and  hasty  manner 
practised  in  this  age,  in  hurrying  away  the  life 
of  woman,  and  confining  the  grace  and  princi- 
pal action  of  it  to  those  years  wherein  reason 
and  discretion  are  most  feeble,  humour  and  pas- 
sion  most  powerful.  From  the  time  a young 
woman  of  quality  has  first  appeared  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, raised  a whisper  and  curiosity  of  the 


16 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


men  about  her,  had  her  health  drank  in  gay 
companies,  and  distinguished  at  public  assem- 
blies : I say,  madam,  if  within  three  or  four 
years  of  her  first  appearance  in  town,  she  is  not 
disposed  of,  her  beauty  is  grown  familiar,  her 
eyes  are  disarmed,  and  we  seldom  after  hear  her 
mentioned  but  with  indifference.  What  doubles 
my  grief  on  this  occasion  is,  that  the  more  dis- 
creetly the  lady  behaves  herself,  the  sooner  is 
her  glory  extinguished.  Now,  madam,  if  merit 
had  a greater  weight  in  our  thoughts,  when  we 
form  to  ourselves  agreeable  characters  of  women, 
men  would  think,  in  making  their  choices,  of 
such  as  would  take  care  of,  as  well  as  supply 
children  for,  the  nursery.  It  was  not  thus  in 
the  illustrious  days  of  good  queen  Elizabeth.  I 
was  this  morning  turning  over  a folio,  called 
The  Complete  Ambassador,  consisting  chiefly 
of  letters  from  lord  Burleigh,  earl  of  Leicester, 
and  sir  Thomas  Smith.  Sir  Thomas  writes  a 
letter  to  sir  Francis  Walsingham,  full  of  learned 
gallantrj',  wherein  you  may  observe  he  promises 
himself  the  French  king’s  brother  (who  it  seems 
was  but  a cold  lover)  would  be  quickened  by 
seeing  the  queen  in  person,  who  was  then  in 
the  thirty-ninth  year  of  her  age.  A certain  so- 
briety in  thoughts,  words,  and  action,  which  was 
the  praise  of  that  age,  kept  the  fire  of  love  alive  ; 
and  it  burnt  so  equally,  that  it  warmed  and  pre- 
served, without  tormenting  and  consuming  our 
beings.  The  letter  I mention  is  as  follows  : 

“ To  the  Right  Worshipful  Mr.  Francis  Wal- 
singham., Ambassador,  resident  in  France. 

“ Sir, — I am  sorry  that  so  good  a matter 
should,  upon  so  nice  a point,  be  deferred.  We 
may  say  that  the  lover  will  do  little,  if  he  will 
not  take  the  pains  once  to  see  his  love ; but  she 
must  first  say  yea,  before  he  see  her,  or  she  him  : 
twenty  ways  might  be  devised  why  he  might 
come  over,  and  be  welcome,  and  possibly  do 
more  in  an  hour  than  he  may  in  two  years. 

* Cupido  ille  qui  vincit  omnia,  in  oculos  insidet, 
€t  ex  oculis  ejaculatur,  et  in  oculos  utriusque  vi- 
dendo  non  solum,  ut  ait  poeta,  foemina  virum, 
sed  vir  foeminam that  powerful  being  Cupid, 
who  conquers  all  things,  resides  in  the  eyes,  he 
sends  out  all  his  darts  from  the  eyes  : by  throw- 
ing glances  at  the  eyes  (according  to  the  poet) 
not  only  the  woman  captivates  the  man,  but  also 
the  man  the  woman.  What  force,  I pray  yon, 
can  ‘ hearsay,’  and  ‘ I think,  and  I trust,’  do  in 
comparison  of  that  ‘ cum  prcesens  prcBsentem  tu- 
etur  et  alloquitur,  et  furore  forsitan  amoris  duc- 
tus, amplectitur,'  when  they  face  to  face  see  and 
converse  with  each  other,  and  the  lover  in  an 
ecstacy,  not  to  be  commanded,  snatches  an  em- 
brace, and  saith  to  himself,  and  openly  that  she 
may  hear,  ‘ Teneone  te  me,  an  etiamnum  somno 
volunt  fosmincB  videri  cogi  ad  id  quod  maximum 
capiunt  ?’  Are  you  in  my  arms,  my  fair  one,  or 
do  we  both  dream,  and  will  women  even  in  their 
sleep  seem  forced  to  what  they  most  desire  ? If 
we  be  cold,  it  is  our  part,  besides  the  person,  the 
sex  requireth  it.  Why  are  you  cold  ? Is  it  not 
a young  man’s  part  to  be  bold,  courageous,  and 
to  adventure  ? If  he  should  have,  he  should  have 
but  * honorijicam  repulsam ;’  even  a repulse  here 
is  glorious : the  worst  that  can  be  said  of  him 
is  but  as  of  Phaeton,  ‘ Quam  si  non  tenuit  mag- 


[No.  7. 

nis  tamen  excidit  ausis though  he  could  not 
command  the  chariot  of  the  sun,  his  fall  from  it 
was  illustrious.  So  far  as  I conceive,  ‘ Ilcec  est 
sola  nostra  anchora,  hcec  jacenda  est  in  nobis 
aleaf  this  is  our  only  anchor,  this  die  must  be 
thrown.  In  our  instability,  ‘ Unum  momentum 
est  uno  momenlo  perfectum  factum,  ac  dictum 
siabilitatem  facere  potest;'  one  lucky  moment 
would  crown  and  fix  all.  This,  or  else  nothing 
is  to  be  looked  for  but  continual  dalliance  and 
doubtfulness,  so  far  as  I can  see.  Your  assured 
friend,  THOMAS  SMITH.” 

“ From  Killingworth,  Aug.  22,  1572.” 

Though  my  lady  was  in  very  good  humour, 
upon  the  insinuation  that,  according  to  the  Eli. 
zabeth  scheme,  she  was  but  just  advanced  above 
the  character  of  a girl ; I found  the  rest  of  the 
company  as  much  disheartened,  that  they  were 
still  but  mere  girls.  I went  on,  therefore,  to  at- 
tribute the  immature  marriages  which  are  so- 
lemnized in  our  days  to  the  importunity  of  the 
men,  which  made  it  impossible  for  young  ladies 
to  remain  virgins  so  long  as  they  wished  from 
their  own  inclinations,  and  the  freedom  of  a sin- 
gle  life. 

There  is  no  time  of  our  life,  under  what  cha- 
racter  soever,  in  which  men  can  wholly  divest 
themselves  of  an  ambition  to  be  in  the  favour 
of  women.  Cardan,  a grave  philosopher  and 
physician,  confesses  in  one  of  his  chapters,  that 
though  he  had  suffered  poverty,  repulses,  ca- 
lumnies,  and  a long  series  of  afflictions,  he  never 
was  thoroughly  dejected,  and  impatient  of  life 
itself,  but  under  a calamity  which  he  suffered 
from  the  beginning  of  his  twenty-first  to  the  end 
of  his  thirtieth  year.  He  tells  us,  that  the  rail- 
lery he  suffered  from  others,  and  the  contempt 
which  he  had  of  himself,  were  afflictions  beyond 
expression.  I mention  this  only  as  an  argument 
extorted  from  this  good  and  grave  man,  to  sup- 
port my  opinion  of  the  irresistible  power  of  wo- 
men. He  adds  in  the  same  chapter,  that  there 
are  ten  thousand  afflictions  and  disasters  attend 
the  passion  itself ; that  an  idle  word  imprudent, 
ly  repeated  by  a fair  woman,  and  vast  expenses 
to  support  her  folly  and  vanity,  every  day  re- 
duce  men  to  poverty  and  death  ; but  he  makes  i 
them  of  little  consideration  to  the  miserable  and  | 
insignificant  condition  of  being  incapable  of  ' 
their  favour. 

I make  no  manner  of  difficulty  of  professing  \ 
I am  not  surprised  that  the  author  has  express-  f 
ed  himself  after  this  manner,  with  relation  to 
love  : the  heroic  chastity  so  frequently  professed  | 
by  humorists  of  the  fair  sex,  generally  ends  in  J , 
an  unworthy  choice,  after  having  overlooked  1 
overtures  to  their  advantage.  It  is  for  this  rea-  I 
son  that  I would  endeavour  to  direct,  and  not  ) 
pretend  to  eradicate  the  inclinations  of  the  sexes  i 
to  each  other.  Daily  experience  shows  us,  that  i 
the  most  rude  rustic  grows  humane  as  soon  as  j 
he  is  inspired  by  this  passion ; it  gives  a new  j 
grace  to  our  manners,  a new  dignity  to  our  C 
minds,  a new  visage  to  our  persons.  Whether 
we  are  inclined  to  liberal  arts,  to  arms,  or  ad- 
dress  in  our  exercise,  our  improvement  is  has- 
tened  by  a particular  object  whom  we  would 
please.  Cheerfulness,  gentleness,  fortitude,  libe- 
rality, magnificence,  and  all  the  virtues  which 


No.  8.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


17 


adorn  men,  which  inspire  heroes,  are  most  con- 
apicuous  in  lovers.  I speak  of  love  as  when  such 
as  are  in  this  company  are  the  objects  of  it,  who 
can  bestow  upon  their  husbands  (if  they  follow 
their  excellent  mother)  all  its  joys  without  any 
of  its  anxieties. 


No.  8.j  Friday^  March  20,  1713. 

Animum  rege 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  ii.  62. 

Govern  the  mind. 

A Guardian  cannot  bestow  his  time  in  any 
office  more  suitable  to  his  character,  than  in 
representing  the  disasters  to  which  we  are  ex- 
posed by  the  irregularity  of  our  passions.  I 
think  I speak  of  this  matter  in  a way  not  yet 
taken  notice  of,  when  I observe  that  they  make 
men  do  things  unworthy  of  those  very  passions. 
1 shall  illustrate  this  by  a story  I have  lately 
read  in  the  Royal  Commentaries  of  Peru,  where- 
in  you  behold  an  oppressor  a most  contemptible 
creature  after  his  power  is  at  an  end  ; and  a per- 
son he  oppressed  so  wholly  intent  upon  revenge 
till  he  had  obtained  it,  that  in  the  pursuit  of  it 
he  utterly  neglected  his  own  safety ; but  when 
that  motive  of  revenge  was  at  an  end,  returned 
to  a sense  of  danger,  in  such  a manner  as  to  be 
unable  to  lay  hold  of  occasions  which  offered 
themselves  for  certain  security,  and  expose  him- 
self from  fear  to  apparent  hazard.  The  motives 
which  I speak  of  are  not  indeed  so  much  to  be 
called  passions,  as  ill  habits  arising  from  pas- 
sions, such  as  pride  and  revenge,  which  are  im- 
provements of  our  infirmities,  and  are,  methinks, 
but  scorn  and  anger  regularly  conducted.  But 
to  my  story. 

Licenciado  Esquivel,  governor  of  the  city  Po- 
tocsi,  commanded  two  hundred  men  to  march 
out  of  that  garrison  towards  the  kingdom  of 
Tueman,  with  strict  orders  to  use  no  Indians  in 
carrying  their  baggage,  and  placed  himself  at  a 
convenient  station  without  the  gates,  to  observe 
how  his  orders  were  put  in  execution ; he  found 
they  were  wholly  neglected,  and  that  Indians 
were  laden  with  the  baggage  of  the  Spaniards, 
but  thought  fit  to  let  them  march  by  till  the  last 
rank  of  all  came  up,  out  of  which  he  seized  one 
man  called  Aguire,  who  had  two  Indians  laden 
with  his  goods.  Within  few  days  after  he  was 
taken  in  arrest,  he  was  sentenced  to  receive  two 
hundred  stripes.  Aguire  represented  by  his 
friends,  that  he  was  the  brother  of  a gentleman, 
who  had  in  his  country  an  estato  with  vassalage 
of  Indians,  and  hoped  his  birth  would  exempt 
him  from  a punishment  of  so  much  indignity. 
Licenciado  persisted  in  the  kind  of  punishment 
he  had  already  pronounced ; upon  which  Aguire 
petitioned  that  it  might  be  altered  to  one  that  he 
should  not  survive ; and  though  a gentleman, 
and  from  that  quality  not  liable  to  suffer  so  ig. 
nominious  a death,  humbly  besought  his  excel- 
lency that  he  might  be  hanged.  But  though 
Licenciado  appeared  all  his  life,  before  he  came 
into  power,  a person  of  an  easy  and  tractable  dis- 
position, he  was  so  changed  by  his  office,  that 
these  applications  from  the  unfortunate  Aguire 
did  but  the  more  gratify  his  insolence ; and 


during  the  very  time  of  their  mediation  for  the 
prisoner,  he  insulted  them  also,  by  commanding 
with  a haughty  tone,  that  his  orders  should  be 
executed  that  very  instant.  This,  as  it  is  usual 
on  such  occasions,  made  the  whole  town  flock 
together;  but  the  principal  inhabitants,  abhor- 
ring the  severity  of  Licenciado,  and  pitying  a 
gentleman  in  the  condition  of  Aguire,  went  in  a 
body,  and  besought  the  governor  to  suspend,  if 
not  remit  the  punishment.  Their  importunities 
prevailed  on  him  to  defer  the  execution  for  eight 
days ; but  when  they  came  to  the  prison  with 
his  warrant,  they  found  Aguire  already  brought 
forth,  stripped,  and  mounted  on  an  ass,  wffiich 
is  the  posture  wherein  the  basest  criminals  arc 
whipped  in  that  city.  His  friends  cried  out, 
‘Take  him  off,  take  him  off,’  and  proclaimed 
their  order  for  suspending  his  punishment ; but 
the  youth,  when  he  heard  that  it  was  only  put 
off  for  eight  days,  rejected  the  favour,  and  said, 

‘ All  my  endeavours  have  been  to  keep  myself 
from  mounting  this  beast,  and  from  the  shame 
of  being  seen  naked ; but  since  things  are  come 
thus  far,  let  the  sentence  proceed,  which  will  be 
less  than  the  fears  and  apprehensions  I shall 
have  in  these  eight  days  ensuing;  besides,  I 
shall  not  need  to  give  further  trouble  to  my 
friends  for  intercession  on  my  behalf,  which  is 
as  likely  to  be  ineffectual  as  what  hath  already 
passed.’  After  he  had  said  this,  the  ass  was 
whipped  forward,  and  Aguire  ran  the  gantlet 
according  to  the  sentence.  The  calm  manner 
in  which  he  resigned  himself,  when  he  found 
his  disgrace  must  be,  and  the  scorn  of  dallying 
with  it  under  a suspension  of  a few  days,  which 
mercy  was  but  another  form  of  the  governor’s 
cruelty,  made  it  visible  that  he  took  comfort  in 
some  secret  resolution  to  avenge  the  affront. 

After  this  indignity,  Aguire  could  not  be  per- 
suaded (though  the  inhabitants  of  Potocsi  often 
importuned  him  from  the  spirit  they  saw  in 
him)  to  go  upon  any  military  undertaking,  but 
excused  himself  with  a modest  sadness  in  his 
countenance,  saying,  ‘ that  after  such  a shame 
as  his  was  death  must  be  his  only  remedy  and 
consolation,  which  he  would  endeavour  to  ob- 
tain as  soon  as  possible.’ 

Under  this  melancholy  he  remained  in  Peru, 
until  the  time  in  which  the  office  of  Esquivel 
expired  ; after  which,  like  a desperate  man,  he 
pursued  and  followed  him,  watching  an  oppor- 
tunity to  kill  him  and  wipe  off  the  shame  of  the 
late  affront.  Esquivel,  being  informed  of  this 
desperate  resolution  by  his  friends,  endeavoured 
to  avoid  his  enemy,  and  took  a journey  of  three 
or  four  hundred  leagues  from  him,  supposing 
that  Aguire  would  not  pursue  him  at  such  a dis- 
tance ; but  Esquivel’s  flight  did  but  increase 
Aguire’s  speed  in  following.  The  first  journey 
which  Esquivel  took  was  to  the  city  Los  Reyes, 
being  three  hundred  and  twenty  leagues  distant; 
but  in  less  than  fifteen  days  Aguire  was  there 
with  him  ; whereupon  Esquivel  took  another 
flight,  as  far  as  to  the  city  of  Quito,  being  four 
hundred  leagues  distant  from  Los  Reyes  ; but 
in  a little  more  than  twenty  days  Aguire  was 
again  with  him  ; which  being  intimated  to  Es- 
quivel, he  took  another  leap  as  far  as  Co?co, 
which  is  five  hundred  leagues  from  Quito ; but 
in  a few  days  after  he  arrived  there,  came  also 


18 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  9. 


A^uire,  travelling  all  the  way  on  foot,  without 
shoes  or  stockings,  saying,  ‘that  it  became  not 
the  condition  of  a whipt  rascal  to  travel  on 
horseback,  or  appear  amongst  men.’  In  this 
manner  did  Aguire  haunt  and  pursue  Esquivel 
for  three  years  and  four  months  ; who  being 
now  tired  and  wearied  with  so  many  long  and 
tedious  journies,  resolved  to  fix  his  abode  at 
Cozco,  where  he  believed  that  Aguire  would 
scarce  adventure  to  attempt  any  tiling  against 
him,  for  fear  of  the  judge  who  governed  that 
city,  who  was  a severe  man,  impartial  and  in- 
flexible in  all  his  proceedings  ; and  aceordingly 
took  a lodging  in  the  middle  of  the  street  of 
the  great  church,  where  he  lived  with  great 
care  and  caution,  wearing  a coat  of  mail  under 
his  upper  coat,  and  went  always  armed  with 
his  sword  and  dagger,  wliich  are  weapons  not 
agreeable  to  his  profession.  However  Aguire 
followed  liither  also,  and  having  in  vain  dogged 
him  from  place  to  place,  day  after  day,  he  re- 
solved to  make  the  attempt  upon  him  in  iiis  own 
house,  which  he  entered,  and  wandered  from 
room  to  room,  till  at  last  he  came  into  his 
study  where  Licenciado  lay  on  a couch  asleep. 
Aguire  stabbed  him  with  his  dagger  with  great 
tranquillity,  and  very  leisurely  wounded  him  in 
other  parts  of  the  body,  which  were  not  covered 
with  ins  coat  of  mail.  He  went  out  of  the 
house  in  safety ; but  as  his  resentment  was 
sated,  he  now  began  to  reflect  upon  the  inexor- 
able  temper  of  the  governor  of  the  place.  Under 
this  apprehension  he  had  not  composure  enough 
to  fly  to  a sanctuary,  which  was  near  the  place 
where  he  committed  the  fact;  but  ran  into  the 
street  frantic  and  distracted,  proclaiming  him- 
self a criminal,  by  crying  out,  ‘ Hide  me,  hide 
me.’ 

The  wretched  fate  and  poor  behaviour  of  Li- 
cenciado, in  flying  his  country  to  avoid  the 
same  person  whom  he  had  before  treated  with 
so  much  insolence,  and  the  high  resentment  of 
a man  so  inconsiderable  as  Aguire,  when  much 
injured,  are  good  admonitions  to  little  spirits  in 
exalted  stations,  to  take  care  how  they  treat 
brave  men  in  low  condition. 


No.  9.]  Saturday,  March  21,  171.3. 

In  tantas  brevi  creverant  opos,  sen  maritimis  sen  ter- 
restribns  fnictibus,  sen  multitndinis  increniento,  sen 
sanctitate  discipliiue.  Liv. 

They  rose  in  a short  time  to  that  pitch  of  wealth  and 
grandeur,  by  means  of  an  extensive  commerce  both  by 
sea  and  land,  by  an  increase  of  the  people,  and  by  the 
rigour  of  their  laws  and  discipline. 

Many  of  the  subjects  of  my  papers  wfill  con- 
sist of  such  tilings  as  I have  gathered  from  the 
conversation,  or  learned  from  the  conduct  of  a 
gentleman,  who  has  been  very  conversant  in 
our  famil}^,  by  name  Mr.  Charwelh*  This 
person  was  formerly  a merchant  in  this  city, 
who,  by  exact  economy,  great  frugality,  and 


» The  person  here  alluded  to,  is  said  to  have  been  the 
charitable  Edward  Colston,  of  Bristol,  member  of  Par- 
liament for  that  city,  who  died  unmarried  in  October, 
1721,  about  the  close  of  bis  eishty-fiflh  year.  ‘ without 
decay  in  his  understa.nding,  without  labour  or  sorrow.' 


very  fortunate  adventures,  was  about  twenty 
years  since,  and  the  fortieth  year  of  his  age, 
arrived  to  the  estate  which  we  usually  call  a 
plum.  This  was  a sum  so  much  beyond  his 
first  ambition,  that  he  then  resolved  to  retire 
from  the  town  and  the  business  of  it  together. 
Accordingly  he  laid  out  one  half  of  his  money 
upon  the  purchase  of  a nobleman’s  estate,  not 
many  miles  distant  from  the  country  seat  of  my 
lady  Lizard.  From  this  neighbourhood  our  first 
acquaintance  began,  and  has  ever  since  been 
continued  with  equal  application  on  both  sides. 
Mr.  Charwell  visits  very  few  gentlemen  in  the 
country  ; his  most  frequent  airings  in  the  sum- 
mer time  are  visits  to  my  lady  Lizard.  And  if 
ever  his  affairs  bring  him  up  to  town  during  the 
winter,  as  soon  as  these  are  despatched,  he  is 
sure  to  dine  at  her  house,  or  to  make  one  at 
her  tea-table,  to  take  her  commands  for  the 
country. 

I shall  hardly  be  able  to  give  an  account  how 
this  gentleman  has  employed  the  twenty  years 
since  he  made  the  purchase  I have  mentioned, 
without  first  describing  the  conditions  of  the 
estate. 

The  estate  then  consisted  of  a good  large  old 
house,  a park  of  two  thousand  acres,  eight 
thousand  acres  more  of  land  divided  into  farms. 
The  land  not  barren,  but  the  country  very  thin 
of  people,  and  these  the  only  consumers  of  the 
wheat  and  barley  that  grew  upon  the  premises. 
A river  running  by  the  house,  which  was  in 
the  centre  of  the  estate,  but  the  same  not  na- 
vigable, and  the  rendering  it  navigable  had 
been  opposed  by  the  generality  of  the  whole 
country.  The  roads  excessive  bad,  and  no  pos- 
sibility of  getting  off  the  tenants’  corn,  but  at 
such  a price  of  carriage  as  would  exceed  the 
whole  value  when  it  cam.e  to  market.  The 
underwoods  all  destroyed,  to  lay  the  country 
open  to  my  lord’s  pleasures ; but  there  was  in- 
deed the  less  want  of  this  fuel,  there  being 
large  coal-pits  in  the  estate,  within  two  miles 
of  the  house,  and  such  a plenty  of  coals  as  was 
sufficient  for  whole  counties.  But  then  the  want 
of  water-carriage  made  these  also  a mere  drug, 
and  almost  every  man’s  for  fetching.  Many 
timber-trees  were  still  standing  only  for  want 
of  chapmen,  very  little  being  used  for  building 
in  a country  so  thin  of  people,  and  those  at  a 
greater  distance  being  in  no  likelihood  of  buying 
pennyworths,  if  they  must  be  at  the  charge  of 
land-carriage.  Yet  every  tree  was  valued  at 
a much  greater  price  than  would  be  given  for  it 
in  the  place ; so  was  every  acre  of  land  in  the 
park  ; and,  as  for  the  tenants,  they  were  all 
racked  to  extremity,  and  almost  every  one  of 
them  beggars.  All  these  things  Mr.  Charwell 
knew  very  well,  yet  was  not  discouraged  from 
going  on  witli  his  purchase. 

But  in  the  first  place,  he  resolved  that  a 
hundred  in  family  should  not  ruin  him,  as  it 
had  done  his  predecessor.  Therefore,  pretending 
to  dislike  the  situation  of  the  old  house,  he 
made  choice  of  another  at  a mile  distance, 
higher  up  the  river,  at  a corner  of  the  park, 
where,  at  the  expense  of  four  or  five  thousand 
pounds,  and  all  the  ornaments  of  the  old  house, 
ho  built  a new  one,  with  all  convenient  offices, 
more  suitable  to  his  revenues,  yet  not  much 


No.  9.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


19 


larger  than  iny  lord’s  dog-kennel,  and  a great 
deal  less  than  his  lordship’s  stables. 

The  next  thing  was  to  reduce  his  park.  He 
took  down  a great  many  pales,  and  with  these 
inclosed  only  two  hundred  acres  of  it  near  ad- 
joining to  his  new  house.  The  rest  he  con- 
verted  to  breeding  cattle,  which  yielded  greater 
profit. 

The  tenants  began  now  to  be  very  much  dis- 
satisfied with  the  loss  of  my  lord’s  family,  whicii 
had  been  a constant  market  for  great  quantities 
of  their  corn;  and  with  the  disparking  somuch 
land,  by  which  provisions  were  likely  to  be  in- 
creased in  so  dispeopled  a country.  Tliey  were 
afraid  they  must  be  obliged  themselves  to  con- 
sume the  whole  product  of  their  farms,  and 
that  they  sliould  bo  soon  undone  by  the  econo- 
my and  frugality  of  this  gentleman. 

Mr.  Charwell  was  sensible  their  fears  were 
but  too  just;  and  that,  if  neither  their  goods 
could  be  carried  off  to  distant  markets,  nor  the 
markets  brought  home  to  their  goods,  his  te- 
nants must  run  away  from  their  farms.  He 
had  no  hopes  of  making  the  river  navigable, 
which  was  a point  tliat  could  not  be  obtained 
by  all  the  interest  of  Iris  predecessor,  and  was 
therefore  not  likely  to  be  yielded  up  to  a man 
who  was  not  yet  known  in  the  country.  All 
that  was  left  for  him  was  to  bring  the  market 
home  to  his  tenants,  wJiich  was  the  very  thing 
he  intended  before  he  ventured  upon  his  pur- 
chase. He  had  even  then  projected  in  his 
thoughts  the  plan  of  a great  town  just  below 
the  old  house  ; he  therefore  presently  set  him- 
self about  the  execution  of  this  project. 

The  thing  has  succeeded  to  his  wish.  In  the 
space  of  twenty  years  he  is  so  fortunate  as  to 
see  a thousand  new  houses  upon  his  estate,  and 
at  least  five  thousand  new  people,  men,  women, 
and  children,  inhabitants  of  tliose  houses,  who 
are  comfortably  subsisted  by  their  own  labour, 
without  charge  to  Mr.  Charwell,  and  to  the 
great  profit  of  his  tenants. 

It  cannot  be  imagined  that  such  a body  of 
people  can  be  subsisted  at  less  than  five  pounds 
per  head,  or  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  per 
annum,  the  greatest  part  of  which  sum  is  an- 
nually expended  for  provisions  among  the  farm- 
ers of  the  next  adjacent  lands.  And  as  the  tenants 
of  Mr.  Charwell  are  nearest  of  all  others  to  the 
market,  they  have  the  best  prices  for  their  goods 
by  all  that  is  saved  in  the  carriage. 

But  some  provisions  are  of  that  nature,  that 
they  will  not  bear  a much  longer  carriage  than 
from  the  extreme  parts  of  his  lands  ; and  I think 
I have  been  told,  that  for  the  single  article  of 
milk,  at  a pint  every  day  for  every  house,  his 
tenants  take  from  this  town  not  much  less  than 
five  hundred  pounds  per  annum. 

The  soil  of  all  kinds,  which  is  made  every 
year  by  the  consumption  of  so  great  a town,  I 
have  heard  has  been  valued  at  two  hundred 
pounds  per  annum.  If  this  be  true,  the  estate 
of  Mr.  Charwell  is  so  much  improved  in  this 
very  article,  since  all  this  is  carried  out  upon 
his  lands  by  the  back  carriage  of  those  very 
carts,  which  were  loaden  by  his  tenants  with 
provisions  and  other  necessaries  for  the  people. 

A hundred  thousand  bushels  of  coal  are  ne- 
cessary to  supply  so  great  a multitude  with 


yearly  fuel.  And  as  these  are  taken  out  of  the 
coal-pits  of  Mr.  Charwell,  he  receives  a penny 
for  every  bushel ; so  that  this  very  article  is  an 
addition  of  lour  hundred  pounds  per  annum  to 
his  revenues.  And  as  the  town  and  people  are 
every  year  inereasing,  the  revetiues  in  the 
above-mentioned,  and  many  other  articles,  are 
increasirig  in  proportion. 

There  is  now  no  longer  any  want  of  the  fa- 
mily of  the  predecessor.  I'he  consumption  of 
five  thousand  people  is  greater  than  can  be 
made  by  any  fifty  of  the  greatest  families  in 
Great  Britain.  The  tenants  stand  in  no  need 
of  distant  markets  to  take  off  the  product  of 
their  farms.  The  people  so  near  their  own  doers 
are  already  more  than  they  are  able  to  supply; 
and  what  is  wanting  at  home  for  this  purpose 
is  supplied  from  places  at  greater  distance,  at 
whatsoever  price  of  carriage. 

All  the  farmers  every  where  near  the  river 
are  now,  in  their  turn,  lor  an  act  of  parliament 
to  make  it  navigable,  that  they  may  iiave  an 
easy  carriage  fiir  their  corn  to  so  g<;od  a mar- 
ket. The  tenants  of  Mr.  Charwell,  that  they 
may  have  the  whole  market  to  themselves,  are 
almost  the  only  persons  against  it.  Bat  they 
will  not  be  long  able  to  oppose  it : their  leases 
are  near  expiring ; and  as  they  are  grown  very 
rich,  there  are  many  other  persons  ready  to 
take  their  farms  at  more  than  double  the  pre- 
sent rents,  even  though  the  river  siiould  be  made 
navigable,  and  distant  people  let  in  to  sell  their 
provisions  together  with  these  farmers. 

As  for  Mr.  Charwell  himself,  he  is  in  no 
manner  of  pain  lest  his  lands  should  fall  in  their 
value  by  the  cheap  carriage  of  provisions  from 
distant  places  to  his  town.  He  knows  very  well 
the  cheapness  of  provisions  was  one  great 
means  of  bringing  together  so  great  numbers, 
and  that  they  must  be  held  together  by  the 
same  means.  He  seems  to  have  nothing  more 
in  his  thoughts  than  to  i)icrease  his  town  to 
such  an  extent,  that  all  the  country  for  ten 
miles  round  about  shall  be  little  enough  to  sup- 
ply it.  He  considers  that  at  how  great  a dis- 
tance soever  provisions  shall  be  brought  thither, 
they  must  end  at  last  in  so  much  soil  for  his 
estate,  and  that  the  farmers  of  other  lands  will 
by  this  means  contribute  to  the  improvement 
of  his  own. 

But  by  what  encouragement  and  rewards,  by 
what  arts  and  policies,  and  what  sort  of  people 
he  has  invited  to  live  upon  his  estate,  and  how 
he  has  enabled  them  to  subsist  by  their  own 
labour,  to  the  great  improvement  of  his  lands, 
will  be  the  subjects  of  some  of  my  future  pre- 
cautions. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

' March  16. 

‘ Sir, — By  your  paper  of  Saturday  last,  you 
give  the  town  hopes  that  you  will  dedicate  that 
day  to  religion.  You  could  not  begin  it  better 
than  by  warning  your  pupils  of  the  poison 
vented  under  a pretence  to  free-thinking.  If  you 
can  spare  room  in  your  next  Saturday’s  paper 
for  a few  lines  on  the  same  subject,  these  are  at 
your  disposal. 

‘ I happened  to  be  present  at  a public  conver- 
sation of  some  of  the  defenders  of  this  discourse 
of  free-thinking,  and  others  that  differed  from 


20 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  10. 


them ; where  I had  the  diversion  of  hearing  the 
same  man  in  one  breath,  persuade  us  to  free- 
dom of  thought,  and  in  the  next,  offer  to  de- 
monstrate that  we  had  no  freedom  in  any  thing. 
One  would  think  men  should  blush,  to  find 
themselves  entangled  in  a greater  contradiction 
than  any  the  discourse  ridicules.  This'  princi- 
ple of  free  fatality  or  necessary  liberty,  is  a 
worthy  fundamental  of  the  new  sect ; and,  in- 
deed, this  opinion  is  an  evidence  and  clearness 
BO  nearly  related  to  transubstantiation,  that  the 
same  genius  seems  requisite  for  either.  It  is 
fit  the  world  should  know  how  far  reason  aban- 
dons  men  that  would  employ  it  against  religion  ; 
which  intention,  I hope,  justifies  this  trouble 
from,  sir,  your  hearty  w'ell-wisher, 

‘ IVIISATHEUS.’ 


No.  10,]  Monday^  March  23,  1713. 

Venit  ad  me  sspe  clamitans 

Vestitu  nimium  indulges,  niinium  ineptus  es, 

Nimiutu  ipse  est  dnrus  prceter  tequunique  et  bonum. 

Ter.  Adelph.  Act  i.  Sc.  1. 

He  is  perpetually  coming  to  me,  and  ringing  in  my 
ears,  that  I do  wrong  to  indulge  him  so  much  in  the  ar- 
ticle of  dress : but  the  fault  lies  in  his  own  excessive  and 
unreasonable  severity. 

When  I am  in  deep  meditation,  in  order  to 
give  my  wards  proper  precautions,  I have  a [ 
principal  regard  to  the  prevalence  of  things  \ 
which  people  of  merit  neglect,  and  from  which 
those  of  no  merit  raise  to  themselves  an  esteem  : 
of  this  nature  is  the  business  of  dress.  It  is 
weak  in  a man  of  thought  and  reflection  to  be 
either  depressed  or  exalted  from  the  perfections 
or  disadvantages  of  his  person.  However  there 
is  a respective  conduct  to  be  observed  in  the 
habit,  according  to  the  eminent  distinction  of 
the  body,  either  way.  A gay  youth  in  the  pos- 
session of  an  ample  fortune,  could  not  recom- 
mend his  understanding  to  those  who  are  not 
of  his  acquaintance  more  suddenly,  than  by 
sobriety  in  his  habit ; as  this  is  winning  at  first 
sight,  so  a person  gorgeously  fine,  which  in  it- 
self should  avoid  the  attraction  of  the  beholders’ 
eyes,  gives  as  immediate  offence. 

I make  it  my  business  when  my  lady  Lizard’s 
youngest  daughter,  Miss  Molly,  is  making 
clothes,  to  consider  her  from  head  to  foot,  and 
cannot  be  easy  when  there  is  any  doubt  lies 
upon  me  concerning  the  colour  of  a knot,  or 
any  other  part  of  her  head-dress,  w’hich,  by  its 
darkness  or  liveliness,  might  too  much  allay  or 
brighten  her  complexion.  There  is  something 
loose  in  looking  as  well  as  you  possibly  can  ; but 
it  is  also  a vice  not  to  take  care  how  you  look. 

The  indiscretion  of  believing  that  great  qua- 
lities make  up  for  the  want  of  things  less  con- 
siderable, is  punished  too  severely  in  those  who 
are  guilty  of  it.  Every  day’s  experience  shows 
us,  among  variety  of  people  with  whom  we  are 
not  acquainted,  that  we  take  impressions  too 
favourable  and  too  disadvantageous  of  men  at 
first  sight  from  their  habit.  I take  this  to  be  a 
point  of  great  consideration,  and  I shall  consi- 
der it  in  my  future  precautions  as  such.  As  to 
the  female  world,  I shall  give  them  my  opinion 
at  large,  by  way  of  comment,  upon  a new  suit 


of  the  Sparkler’s,  which  is  to  come  home  next 
week.  I design  it  a model  for  the  ladies.  She 
and  I have  had  three  private  meetings  about  it. 
As  to  the  men,  I am  very  glad  to  hear,  being 
myself  a fellow  of  Lincoln  college,  that  there  is 
at  last  in  one  of  our  universities  risen  a happy 
genius  for  little  things.  It  is  extremely  to  be 
lamented,  that  hitherto  we  come  from  the  col- 
lege as  unable  to  put  on  our  own  clothes  as  we 
do  from  nurse.  We  owe  many  misfortunes, 
and  an  unhappy  backwardness  in  urging  our 
way  in  the  world,  to  the  neglect  of  these  less 
matters.  For  this  reason  I shall  authorise  and 
support  the  gentleman  who  writes  me  the  follow- 
ing letter  ; and  though,  out  of  diffidence  of  the  re- 
ception his  proposal  should  meet  with  from  me, 
he  has  given  himself  too  ludicrous  a figure  ; I 
doubt  not  but  from  his  notices  to  make  men 
who  cannot  arrive  at  learning  in  that  place, 
come  from  thence  without  appearing  ignorant : 
and  such  as  can,  to  be  truly  knowing  without 
appearing  bookish. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘Oxford,  March  18, 1712-13. 

‘ Sir, — I foresee  tliat  you  will  have  many  cor- 
respondents in  this  place  ; but  as  I have  often 
observed,  with  grief  of  heart,  that  scholars  are 
I wretchedly  ignorant  in  tlie  science  I profess,  I 
flatter  myself  that  my  letter  will  gain  a place 
in  your  papers.  I have  made  it  my  study,  sir, 
in  these  seats  of  learning,  to  look  into  the  na- 
ture of  dress,  and  am  what  they  call  an  aca- 
demical beau.  I have  often  lamented  that  I am 
obliged  to  wear  a grave  habit,  since  by  that 
means  I have  not  an  opportunity  to  introduce 
fashions  amongst  our  young  gentlemen  ; and  so 
am  forced,  contrary  to  my  own  inclinations,  and 
the  expectation  of  all  who  know  me,  to  appear 
in  print.  I have  indeed  met  with  some  success 
in  the  projects  I have  communicated  to  some 
sparks  with  whom  I am  intimate  ; and  I cannot 
without  a secret  triumph  confess,  that  the 
sleeves  turned  up  with  green  velvet,  which  now 
flourish  throughout  the  university,  sprang  ori- 
ginally from  my  invention. 

‘As  it  is  necessary  to  have  the  head  clear,  as 
well  as  the  complexion,  to  be  perfect  in  this 
part  of  learning,  I rarely  mingle  with  the  men, 
(for  I abhor  wine,)  but  frequent  the  tea-tables 
of  the  ladies.  I know  every  part  of  their  dress, 
and  can  name  all  their  things  by  their  names.  I 
am  consulted  about  every  ornament  they  buy  ; 
and,  I speak  it  without  vanity,  have  a very 
pretty  fancy  to  knots,  and  the  like.  Sometimes 
I take  a needle,  and  spot  a piece  of  muslin  for 
pretty  Patty  Cross-stitch,  who  is  my  present 
favourite,  which,  she  says,  I do  neatly  enough  ; 
or  read  one  of  your  papers,  and  explain  the 
motto,  which  they  all  like  mightily.  But  then 
I am  a sort  of  petty  tyrant  amongst  them,  for  I 
own  I have  my  humours.  If  any  thing  be 
amiss,  they  are  sure  Mr.  Sleek  will  find  fault ; 
if  any  hoity-toity  things  make  a fuss,  they  are 
sure  to  be  taken  to  pieces  the  next  visit.  I am 
the  dread  of  poor  Celia,  whose  wrapping-gown 
is  not  right  India ; and  am  avoided  by  Thalas- 
tris,  in  her  second-hand  mantua  which  several 
masters  of  arts  think  very  fine,  whereas  I per- 
ceived it  had  been  scoured,  with  half  an  eye. 


No.  11.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


21 


* Thus  have  I endeavoured  to  improve  my 
understandings,  and  am  desirous  to  communi- 
cate my  innocent  discoveries  to  those,  who,  like 
me,  may  distinguish  themselves  more  to  advan- 
tage by  their  bodies  than  their  minds.  1 do  not 
think  the  pains  I have  taken  in  these  my  stu- 
dies, thrown  away,  since  by  these  means, 
though  I am  not  very  valuable,  I am  however 
not  disagreeable.  Would  gentlemen  but  reflect 
upon  what  I say,  they  would  take  care  to  make 
the  best  of  themselves  ; for  I think  it  intolerable 
that  a blockhead  should  be  a sloven.  Though 
every  man  cannot  fill  his  head  with  learning,  it 
is  in  any  one’s  power  to  wear  a pretty  periwig ; 
let  him  who  cannot  say  a witty  thing,  keep  his 
teeth  white  at  least ; he  who  hath  no  knack  at 
writing  sonnets,  may  however  have  a soft 
hand ; and  he  may  arch  his  eye-brows,  who 
hath  not  strength  of  genius  for  the  mathematics. 

‘ After  the  conclusion  of  the  peace,  we  shall 
undoubtedly  have  new  fashions  from  France; 
and  I have  some  reason  to  think  that  some  par- 
ticularities  in  the  garb  of  their  abbes  may  be 
transplanted  hither  to  advantage.  What  I find 
becoming  in  their  dress  I hope  I may,  without 
the  imputation  of  being  popishly  inclined,  adopt 
into  our  habits ; but  would  willingly  have  the 
authority  of  the  Guardian  to  countenance  me 
in  this  harmless  design.  I would  not  hereby 
assume  to  myself  a jurisdiction  over  any  of  our 
youth,  but  such  as  are  incapable  of  improvement 
any  other  way.  As  for  the  awkward  creatures 
that  miiid  their  studies,  I look  upon  them  as 
irreclaimable.  But  over  the  afore-mentioned 
order  of  men,  I desire  a commission  from  you 
to  exercise  full  authority.  Hereby,  I shall  be 
enabled  from  time  to  time  to  introduce  several 
pretty  oddnesses  in  the  taking  and  tucking  up 
of  gowns,  to  regulate  the  dimensions  of  wigs, 
to  vary  the  tufts  upon  caps,  and  to  enlarge  or 
narrow  the  hems  of  bands,  as  I shall  think 
most  for  the  public  good. 

‘ I have  prepared  a treatise  against  the  cravat 
and  berdash,*  which  I am  told  is  not  ill  done  ; 
and  have  thrown  together  some  hasty  observa- 
tions upon  stockings,  which  my  friends  assure 
me  I need  not  be  ashamed  of.  But  I shall  not 
offer  them  to  the  public  until  they  are  approved 
of  at  our  female  club ; which  I am  the  more 
willing  to  do,  because  I am  sure  of  their  praise  ; 
for  they  own  I understand  these  things  better 
than  they  do.  I shall  herein  be  very  proud  of 
your  encouragement ; for,  next  to  keeping  the 
university  clean,  my  greatest  ambition  is  to  be 
thought,  sir,  your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 
‘SIMON  SLEEK.’ 


No.  11.]  Tuesday,  March  24,  1713. 

—Hue  propius  me, 

Dum  doceo  insanire  omnes,  vos  ordine  adite. 

Hor.  Lib.  2.  Sat.  iii.  80. 
Attend  my  lecture  whilst  I plainly  show, 

That  all  mankind  are  mad,  from  high  to  low. 

There  is  an  oblique  way  of  reproof,  which 
takes  off  from  the  sharpness  of  it ; and  an  'ad- 


* A kind  of  neckcloth  so  called,  whence  such  as  sold 
them  were  styled  haberdashers. 


dress  in  flattery,  which  makes  it  agreeable, 
though  never  so  gross  : but  of  all  flatterers,  the 
most  skilful  is  he  who  can  do  what  you  like, 
without  saying  any  thing  which  argues  he  does 
it*  for  your  sake  ; the  most  winning  circum- 
stance  in  the  world  being  the  conformity  of  man- 
ners. I speak  of  this  as  a practice  necessary 
in  gaining  people  of  sense,  who  are  not  yet 
given  up  to  self-conceit ; those  who  are  far  gone 
in  admiration  of  themselves,  need  not  be  treated 
with  so  much  delicacy.  The  following  letter 
puts  this  matter  in  a pleasant  and  uncommon 
light : the  author  of  it  attacks  this  vice  with  an 
air  of  compliance,  and  alarms  us  against  it  by 
exhorting  us  to  it. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — As  you  profess  to  encourage  all  those 
who  any  way  contribute  to  the  public  good,  I 
flatter  myself  I may  claim  your  countenance 
and  protection.  I am  by  profession  a m ad- 
doctor,  but  of  a peculiar  kind,  not  of  those  whose 
aim  it  is  to  remove  frenzies,  but  one  who  makes 
it  my  business  to  confer  an  agreeable  madness 
on  my  fellow-creatures,  for  their  mutual  delight 
and  benefit.  Since  it  is  agreed  by  the  philoso- 
phers, that  happiness  and  misery  consist  chiefly 
in  the  imagination,  nothing  is  more  necessary 
to  mankind  in  general  than  this  pleasing  deli- 
rium, which  renders  every  one  satisfied  with 
himself,  and  persuades  him  that  all  others  are 
equally  so. 

‘ I have  for  several  years,  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  made  this  science  my  particular  study, 
which  I may  venture  to  say  I have  improved  in 
almost  all  the  courts  of  Europe  ; and  have  re- 
duced it  into  so  safe  and  easy  a method,  as  to 
practise  it  on  both  sexes,  of  what  disposition, 
age,  or  quality  soever,  with  success.  What 
enables  me  to  perform  this  great  work,  is  the 
use  of  my  Obsequium  Catholicon,  or  the  Grand 
Elixir,  to  support  the  spirits  of  human  nature. 
This  remedy  is  of  the  most  grateful  flavour  in 
the  world,  and  agrees  with  all  tastes  whatever. 
It  is  delicate  to  the  senses,  delightful  in  the 
operation,  may  be  taken  at  all  hours  without 
confinement,  and  is  as  properly  given  at  a ball 
or  playhouse  as  in  a private  chamber.  It  re- 
stores and  vivifies  the  most  dejected  minds,  cor- 
rects and  extracts  all  that  is  painful  in  the 
knowledge  of  a man’s  self.  One  dose  of  it  will 
instantly  disperse  itself  through  the  whole  ani- 
mal system,  dissipate  the  first  motions  of  dis- 
trust so  as  never  to  return,  and  so  exhilirate  the 
brain  and  rarify  the  gloom  of  reflection,  as  to 
give  the  patients  a new  flow  of  spirits,  a viva- 
city of  behaviour,  and  a pleasing  dependence 
upon  their  own  capacities. 

‘ Let  a person  be  never  so  far  gone,  I advise 
him  not  to  despair ; even  though  he  has  been 
troubled  many  years  with  restless  reflections, 
which  by  long  neglect  have  hardened  into  set- 
tled consideration.  Those  that  have  been  stung 
with  satire  may  here  find  a certain  antidote, 
which  infallibly  disperses  all  the  remains  of 
poison  that  has  been  left  in  the  understanding 
by  bad  cures.  It  fortifies  the  heart  against  the 
rancour  of  pamphlets,  the  inveteracy  of  epi- 
grams, and  the  mortification  of  lampoons ; as 


22 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  12. 


has  been  often  experienced  by  several  persons 
of  both  sexes,  during  the  seasons  of  Tunbridge 
and  the  Bath. 

‘ I could,  as  farther  instances  of  nay  success, 
produce  certificates  and  testimonials  from  tjie 
favourites  and  ghostly  fathers  of  the  most  emi- 
nent princes  of  Europe:  but  shall  content  my- 
self with  the  mention  of  a few  cures,  which  I 
have  performed  by  this  my  grand  universal  re- 
storative, during  the  practice  of  one  month  only 
since  I came  to  this  city. 

Cures  in  the  month  of  February ^ 1713. 

‘ George  Spondee,  esq.  poet,  and  inmate  of 
the  parish  of  St.  Paul’s  Covent-garden,  fell  into 
violent  fits  of  the  spleen  upon  a thin  third  night. 
He  had  been  frightened  into  a vertigo  by  the 
sound  of  cat-calls  on  the  first  day ; and  the  fre- 
quent hissings  on  the  second  made  him  unable 
to  endure  the  bare  pronunciation  of  the  letter 
S.  I searched  into  the  causes  of  his  distemper; 
and  by  the  prescription  of  a dose  of  my  Obse- 
quium,  prepared  secundum  artern,  recovered  him 
to  his  natural  state  of  madness.  I cast  in  at 
proper  intervals  the  words,  III  taste  of  the  town. 
Envy  of  Critics,  Bad  performance  of  the  actors, 
and  the  like.  He  is  so  perfectly  cured,  that  lie 
has  promised  to  bring  another  play  upon  tije 
stage  next  winter.* 

‘ A lady  of  professed  virtue,  of  the  parish  of 
St.  James’s,  Westminster,  who  hath  desired  her 
name  may  be  concealed,  having  taken  offence 
at  a phrase  of  double  meaning  in  conversation, 
undiscovered  by  any  other  in  the  company,  sud- 
denly fell  into  a cold  fit  of  modesty.  Upon  a 
right  application  of  praise  of  her  virtue,  I threw 
the  lady  into  an  agreeable  waking  dream,  set- 
tled the  fermentation  of  her  blood  into  a warm 
charity,  so  as  to  make  her  look  with  patience  on 
the  very  gentleman  that  offended. 

‘ Hilaria,  of  the  parish  of  St.  Giles’s  in  the 
fields,  a coquette  of  long  practice,  was,  by  the 
reprimand  of  an  old  maiden,  reduced  to  look 
grave  in  company,  and  deny  herself  the  play 
of  the  fan.  In  short,  she  was  brought  to  such 
melanchol}’^  circumstances,  that  she  would  some- 
times unawares  fall  into  devotion  at  church.  I 
advised  her  to  take  a few  innocent  freedoms 
with  occasional  kisses,  prescribed  her  the  exer- 
cise of  the  eyes,  and  immediately  raised  her  to 
her  former  state  of  life.  She  on  a sudden  re- 
covered her  dimples,  furled  her  fan,  threw  round 
her  glances,  and  for  these  two  Sundays  last  past 
has  not  once  been  seen  in  an  attentive  posture. 
This,  the  churchwardens  are  ready  to  attest 
upon  oath. 

‘ Andrew  Terror,  of  the  Middle  temple,  mo- 
hock,  was  almost  induced  by  an  aged  bencher 
of  the  same  house,  to  leave  off  bright  conversa- 
tion, and  pore  over  Coke  upon  Littleton.  He 
was  so  ill  that  his  hat  began  to  flap,  and  he  was 
seen  one  day  in  the  last  term  at  Westminster- 
hall.  This  patient  had  quite  lost  his  spirit  of 
contradiction ; I,  by  the  distillation  of  a few  of 
my  vivifying  drops  in  his  ear,  drew  him  from 
his  lethargy,  and  restored  him  to  his  usual  vi- 
vacious misunderstanding.  He  is  at  present 
very  easy  in  his  condition. 

‘ I will  not  dwell  upon  the  recital  of  the  in-  1 


numerable  cures  I have  performed  within  twenty 
days  last  past ; but  rather  proceed  to  exhort  all 
persons  of  whatever  age,  complexion,  or  quality, 
to  take  as  soon  as  possible  of  this  my  intellec- 
tual oil : which,  applied  at  the  ear,  seizes  all  the 
senses  with  a most  agreeable  transport,  and  dis-  l 
covers  its  effects,  not  only  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  patient,  but  all  who  converse  with,  attend  i 
upon,  or  any  way  relate  to  him  or  her  that  re- 
ceives the  kindly  infection.  It  is  often  admi- 
nistered  by  chamber-maids,  valets,  or  any  the 
most  ignorant  domestic;  it  being  one  peculiar 
excellence  of  this  my  oil,  that  it  is  most  preva- 
lent, the  more  unskilful  the  person  is  or  appears  i 
who  applies  it.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  for 
ladies  to  take  a dose  of  it  just  before  they  take 
coach  to  go  a visiting. 

‘ But  I offend  the  public,  as  Horace  said,  when 
I trespass  on  any  of  your  time.  Give  me  leave 
then,  Mr.  Ironside,  to  make  you  a present  of  a 
dram  or  two  of  my  oil  ; though  I have  cause 
to  fear  my  prescriptions  will  not  have  the  effect 
upon  you  I could  wish  : therefore  I do  not  en- 
deavour  to  bribe  you  in  my  favour  by  the  pre- 
sent of  my  oil,  but  wholly  depend  upon  your 
public  spirit  and  generosity  ; which,  I hope,  will 
recommend  to  the  world  the  useful  endeavours  j 
of,  sir,  your  most  obedient,  most  faithful,  most  « 
devoted,  most  humble  servant  and  admirer,  ; 

‘ GNATHO.  j 

‘ Beware  of  counterfeits,  for  such  are  i 

abroad. 

‘N.  B.  I teach  the  arcana  of  my  art  at  rea- 
sonable rates  to  gentlemen  of  the  universities,  i 
who  desire  to  be  qualified  for  writing  dedica- 
tions; and  to  young  lovers  and  fortune-hunters,  ; 
to  be  paid  .at  the  day  of  marriage.  I instruct  i 
persons  of  bright  capacities  to  flatter  others, 
and  those  of  the  meanest,  to  flatter  themselves. 

‘ I was  the  first  inventor  of  pocket  looking- 
glasses.’ 


No.  12.]  Wednesday^  March  25,  1713. 

Vel  quia  nil  rectum,  nisi  quod  placuit  sibi,  ducunt  ; 

Vel  quia  Uupe  putant  parere  minoribus — 

Hor.  Lib.  2.  Ep.  i.  34. 

IIMTT.'ITED. 

You’d  think  no  fools  disgraced  the  former  reign, 

Did  not  some  grave  e.xamplesyet  remain, 

Who  scorn  a lad  should  match  his  father's  skill. 

And  having  once  been  wrong,  will  be  so  still.  Pope. 

When  a poem  makes  its  first  appearance  in 
the  world,  I have  always  observed  that  it  gives 
employment  to  a greater  number  of  critics  than 
any  other  kind  of  writing.  Whether  it  be  that 
most  men,  at  some  time  of  their  lives,  have  tried 
their  talent  that  way,  and  thereby  think  they 
have  a right  to  judge  ; or  whether  they  ima- 
gine, that  their  making  shrewd  observations 
upon  the  polite  arts,  gives  them  a pretty  figure ; 
or  whether  there  may  not  be  some  jealousy  and 
caution  in  bestowing  ap]jlause  upon  those  who 
write  chiefly  for  fame.  Whatever  the  reasons 
be,  we  find  few  discouraged  by  the  delicacy  and 
danger  of  such  an  undertaking. 

I think  it  dertain  that  most  men  are  naturally 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


23 


No.  13.] 

not  only  capable  of  being  pleased  with  that 
which  raises  agreeable  pictures  in  the  fancy, 
but  willing  also  to  own  it.  But  then  there  are 
many,  who,  by  false  application  of  some  rules 
ill  understood,  or  out  of  deference  to  men  whose 
opinions  they  value,  have  formed  to  themselves 
certain  schemes  and  systems  of  satisfaction,  and 
will  not  be  pleased  out  of  their  own  way.  These 
are  not  critics  themselves,  but  readers  of  critics, 

I who,  without  the  labour  of  perusing  authors,  are 
able  to  give  their  characters  in  general ; and 
know  just  as  much  of  the  several  species  of 
poetry,  as  those  who  read  books  of  geography 
do  of  the  genius  of  this  or  that  people  or  nation. 
These  gentlemen  deliver  their  opinions  senten- 
tiously,  and  in  general  terms  ; to  which  it  being 
impossible  readily  to  frame  complete  answers, 
they  have  often  the  satisfaction  of  leaving  the 
board  in  triumph.  As  young  persons,  and  par- 
ticularly the  ladies,  are  liable  to  be  led  aside  by 
these  tyrants  in  wit,  I shall  examine  two  or 
three  of  the  many  stratagems  they  use,  and  sub- 
join such  precautions  as  may  hinder  candid 
readers  from  being  deceived  thereby, 

I'he  first  I shall  take  notice  of  is  an  objection 
commonly  offered,  viz.  ‘ that  such  a poem  hath 
indeed  some  good  lines  in  it,  but  it  is  not  a re- 
ular  piece.’  This,  for  the  most  part,  is  urged 
y those  whose  knowledge  is  drawn  from  some 
famous  French  critics,  who  have  written  upon 
the  epic  poem,  the  drama,  and  the  great  kinds 
of  poetry,  which  cannot  subsist  without  great 
regularity ; but  ought  by  no  means  to  be  re- 
quired in  odes,  epistles,  panegyrics,  and  the 
like,  which  naturally  admit'of  greater  liberties. 
The  enthusiasm  in  odes,  and  the  freedom  of 
epistles,  is  rarely  disputed  : but  I have  often 
heard  the  poems  upon  public  occasions,  written 
in  heroic  verse,  which  I choose  to  call  panegyrics, 
severely  censured  upon  this  account ; the  rea- 
son whereof  I cannot  guess,  unless  it  be,  that 
because  they  are  written  in  the  same  kind  of 
numbers  and  spirit  as  an  epic  poem,  they  ought 
therefore  to  have  the  same  regularity.  Now 
an  epic  poem  consisting  chiefly  m narration,  it 
is  necessary  that  the  incidents  should  be  related 
in  the  same  order  that  they  are  supposed  to  have 
been  transacted.  But  in  works  of  the  above- 
mentioned  kind,  there  is  no  more  reason  that 
such  order  should  be  observed,  than  that  an  ora- 
tion sliould  be  as  methodical  as  a history.  I think 
it  sufficient  that  tlie  great  hints  suggested  from 
the  subject,  be  so  disposed,  that  the  first  may 
naturally  prepare  the  reader  for  what  follows, 
and  so  on  ; and  that  their  places  cannot  be 
changed  without  disadvantage  to  the  whole.  I 
will  add  further,  that  sometimes  gentle  devia- 
tions, sometimes  bold,  and  even  abrupt  digres- 
sions, where  the  dignity  of  the  subject  seems  to 
give  the  impulse,  are  proofs  of  a noble  genius ; 
as  winding  about  and  returning  artfully  to  the 
main  design  are  marks  of  address  and  dexterity. 

Another  artifice  made  use  of  by  pretenders  to 
criticism,  is  an  insinuation,  ‘ that  ail  that  is  good 
is  borrowed  from  the  ancients.’  This  is  very 
common  in  the  mouths  of  pedants,  and  perhaps 
in  their  hearts  too ; but  is  often  urged  by  men 
of  no  great  learning,  for  reasons  very  obvious. 
Now  nature  being  still  the  same,  it  is  impossible 
tor  any  modern  writer  to  paint  her  otherwise 


than  the  ancients  have  done.  If,  for  example, 
I was  to  describe  the  general’s  horse  at  the 
battle  of  Blenheim  as  my  fancy  represented  such 
a noble  beast,  and  that  description  should  re- 
semble what  Virgil  hath  drawn  for  the  horse  of 
his  hero,  it  would  be  almost  as  ill-natured  to 
urge  that  I had  stolen  rny  description  from  Vir- 
gil, as  to  reproach  the  duke  of  Marlborough  for 
fighting  only  like  jEneas.  All  that  the  most 
exquisite  judgment  can  perform  is,  out  of  that 
great  variety  of  circumstances  wherein  natural 
objects  may  be  considered,  to  select  the  most 
beautiful ; and  to  place  images  in  such  views 
and  lights  as  will  affect  the  fancy  after  the  most 
delightful  manner.  But  over  and  above  a just 
painting  of  nature,  a learned  reader  will  find  a 
new  beauty  superadded  in  a happy  imitation  of 
some  famous  ancient,  as  it  revives  in  his  mind 
the  pleasure  he  took  in  his  first  reading  such 
an  author.  ' Such  copyings  as  these  give  that 
kind  of  double  delight  which  we  perceive  when 
we  look  upon  the  children  of  a beautiful  couple  ; 
where  the  eye  is  not  more  charmed  with  the  sym- 
metry of  the  parts,  than  the  mind  by  observing 
the  resemblance  transmitted  from  parents  to  their 
offspring,  and  the  mingled  features  of  the  father 
and  mother.  The  phrases  of  holy  writ,  and 
allusions  to  several  passages  in  the  inspired 
writings  (though  not  produced  as  proofs  of  doc- 
trine) add  majesty  and  authority  to  the  noblest 
discourses  of  the  pulpit : in  like  manner,  an 
imitation  of  the  air  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  raises 
the  dignity  of  modern  poetry,  and  makes  it  ap» 
pear  stately  and  venerable. 

The  last  observation  I shall  make  at  present 
is  upon  the  disgust  taken  by  those  critics,  who 
put  on  their  clothes  prettily,  and  dislike  every 
thing  that  is  not  written  with  ease.  I hereby 
therefore  give  the  genteel  part  of  the  learned 
world  to  understand,  that  every  thought  which 
is  agreeable  to  nature,  and  expressed  in  lan- 
guage suitable  to  it,  is  written  with  ease.  There 
are  some  things  which  must  be  written  with 
strength,  which  nevertheless  are  easy.  The 
statue  of  the  gladiator,  though  represented  in 
such  a posture  as  strains  every  muscle,  is  as 
easy  as  that  of  Venus  ; because  the  one  expresses 
strength  and  fury  as  naturally  as  the  other  doth 
beauty  and  softness.  The  passions  are  some- 
times to  be  roused,  as  well  as  the  fancy  to  be 
entertained  ,*  and  the  soul  to  be  exalted  and  en- 
larged, as  well  as  soothed.  This  often  requires 
a raised  and  figurative  style  ; which  readers  of 
low  apprehensions,  or  soft  and  languid  dispo- 
sitions (having  heard  of  the  words,  fustian  and 
bombast)  are  apt  to  reject  as  stiff  and  affected 
language.  But  nattire  and  reason  appoint  dif- 
ferent garbs  for  different  things  ; and  since  I 
write  this  to  the  men  of  dress,  I will  ask  them 
if  a soldier  who  is  to  mount  a breach,  should  be 
adorned  like  a beau,  who  is  spruced  up  for  a ball? 


No.  13.]  Thursday,  March  2(1,  1713. 

PiuJore  et  libcialitate  liberos 
Retinere,  satius  esse  credo,  qnam  metu. 

Ter.  Adelph.  Act  i.  Sc.  1. 

T esteem  it  better  to  keep  children  in  awe  by  a sense 
of  shame,  and  a condescension  to  their  inclinations, 
than  by  fear. 

The  reader  has  i:ad  some  account  of  the 


24 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  13. 


whole  family  of  the  Lizards,  except  the  younger 
sons.  These  are  the  branches  which  ordinarily 
spread  themselves,  when  they  happen  to  be 
hopeful,  into  other  houses,  and  new  generations, 
as  honourable,  numerous,  and  wealthy,  as  those 
from  whence  they  are  derived.  For  this  reason 
it  is,  that  a very  peculiar  regard  is  to  be  had  to 
their  education. 

Young  men,  when  they  are  good  for  any 
thing,  and  left  to  their  own  inclinations,  delight 
•either  in  those  accomplishments  we  call  their 
•exercise,  in  the  sports  of  the  field,  or  in  letters. 
Mr.  Thomas,  the  second  son,  does  not  follow 
any  of  these  with  too  deep  an  attention,  but 
took  to  each  of  them  enough  never  to  appear 
ungraceful  or  ignorant.  This  general  inclina- 
tion  makes  him  the  more  agreeable,  and  saves 
him  from  the  imputation  of  pedantry.  His  car- 
riage  is  so  easy,  that  he  is  acceptable  to  all  with 
whom  he  converses ; he  generally  falls  in  with 
the  inclination  of  his  company,  is  never  assum- 
ing, or  prefers  himself  to  others.  Thus  he 
always  gains  favour  without  envy,  and  has  every 
man’s  good  wishes.  It  is  remarkable,  that  from 
his  birth  to  this  day,  though  he  is  now  four-and- 
twenty,  I do  not  remember  that  he  has  ever  had 
a debate  with  any  of  his  play-fellows  or  friends. 

His  thoughts,  and  present  applications  are  to 
get  into  a court  life  ; for  which,  indeed,  I can- 
not but  think  him  peculiarly  formed  ; for  he  has 
joined  to  this  complacency  of  manners  a great 
natural  sagacity,  and  can  very  well  distinguish 
between  things  and  appearances.  That  way  of 
life,  wherein  all  men  are  rivals,  demands  great 
circumspection  to  avoid  controversies  arising 
from  different  interests  ; but  he  who  is  by  na- 
ture of  a flexible  temper  has  his  work  half  done. 
I have  been  particularly  pleased  with  his  beha- 
viour towards  women  : he  has  the  skill,  in  their 
conversation,  to  converse  with  them  as  a man 
would  with  those  from  whom  he  might  have  ex- 
pectations, but  without  making  requests.  I do 
not  know  that  I ever  heard  him  make  what  they 
call  a compliment,  or  be  particular  in  his  ad- 
dress to  any  lady ; and  yet  I never  heard  any 
woman  speak  of  him  but  with  a peculiar  regard. 
I believe  he  has  been  often  beloved,  but  know 
not  that  he  was  ever  yet  a lover.  The  great  se- 
cret among  them,  is  to  be  amiable  without  de- 
sign. He  has  a voluble  speech,  a vacant  coun- 
tenance, and  easy  action,  which  represents  the 
fact  which  he  is  relating  with  greater  delight 
than  it  would  have  been  to  have  been  present  at 
the  transaction  which  he  recounts.  For  you  see 
it  not  only  your  own  way  by  the  bare  narration, 
but  have  the  additional  pleasure  of  his  sense  of 
it,  by  this  manner  of  representing  it.  There 
are  mixed  in  his  talk  so  many  pleasant  ironies, 
that  things  which  deserve  the  severest  language 
are  made  ridiculous  instead  of  odious,  and  you 
see  every  thing  in  the  most  good-natured  aspect 
it  can  bear.  It  is  wonderfully  entertaining  to 
me  to  hear  him  so  exquisitely  pleasant,  and 
never  say  an  ill-natured  tiling.  He  is,  with  all 
his  acquaintance,  the  person  generally  chosen 
to  reconcile  any  difference,  and  if  it  be  capable 
of  accommodation,  Tom  Lizard  is  an  unexcep- 
tionable referee.  It  has  happened  to  him  more 
than  once,  that  he  has  been  employed  by  each 
opposite  in  a private  manner,  to  feel  the  pulse 


of  the  adversary  ; and  when  each  has  proposed 
the  decision  of  the  matter,  by  any  whom  the 
other  should  name,  he  has  taken  hold  of  the  oc- 
casion, and  put  on  the  authority  assigned  by 
them  both,  so  seasonably,  that  they  have  begun 
a new  correspondence  with  each  other,  fortified 
by  his  friendship  to  whom  they  both  owe  the 
value  they  have  for  one  another,  and  conse- 
quently, confer  a greater  measure  of  their  good' 
will  upon  the  interposer.  1 must  repeat,  that 
above  all,  my  young  man  is  excellent  at  raising 
the  subject  on  which  he  speaks,  and  casting  a 
light  upon  it  more  agreeable  to  his  company,, 
than  they  thought  the  subject  was  capable  of- 
He  avoids  all  emotion  and  violence,  and  never 
is  warm,  but  on  an  affectionate  occasion.  Gen- 
'tleness  is  what  peculiarly  distinguishes  him 
from  other  men,  and  it  runs  through  all  his 
words  and  actions. 

Mr.  William,  the  next  brother,  is  not  of  this 
smooth  make,  nor  so  ready  to  accommodate  him- 
self to  the  humours  and  inclinations  of  other 
men,  but  to  weigh  what  passes  with  some  se- 
verity. He  is  ever  searching  into  the  first  springs 
and  causes  of  any  action  or  circumstance,  inso- 
mueh,  that  if  it  were  not  to  be  expected  that  ex- 
perience and  conversation  would  allay  that  hu- 
mour, it  must  inevitably  turn  him  to  ridicule. 
But  it  is  not  proper  to  break  in  upon  an  inqui- 
sitive temper,  that  is  of  use  to  him  in  the  way 
of  life  which  he  proposes  to  himself,  to  wit,  the 
study  of  the  law,  and  the  endeavour  to  arrive 
at  a faculty  in  pleading.  I have  been  very  care- 
ful to  kill  in  him  any  pretensions  to  follow  men 
already  eminent,  any  farther  than  as  their  suc- 
cess is  an  encouragement ; but  make  it  my  en- 
deavour to  cherish,  in  the  principal  and  first 
place,  his  eager  pursuit  of  solid  knowledge  in 
his  profession  : for  I think  that  clear  conception 
will  produce  clear  expression,  and  clear  expres- 
sion proper  action : I never  saw  a man  speak 
very  well,  where  I could  not  apparently  observe 
this,  and  it  shall  be  a maxim  with  me  till  I see 
an  instance  to  the  contrary.  When  young  and  i 
unexperienced  men  take  any  particular  person  i 
for  their  pattern,  they  are  apt  to  imitate  them  i 
in  such  things,  to  which  their  want  of  know-  > 
ledge  makes  them  attribute  success,  and  not  to 
the  real  causes  of  it.  Thus  one  may  have  an  j 
air,  which  proceeds  from  a just  .sufficiency  and  j 
knowledge  of  the  matter  before  him,  which  may  I 
naturally  produce  some  motion  of  his  head  and  t 
body,  which  might  become  the  bench  better  than  I 
the  bar.  How  painfully  wrong  would  this  be  in  i 
a youth,  at  his  first  appearance,  when  it  is  not 
well  even  for  the  sergeant  of  the  greatest  weight  ‘i 
and  dignity.  But  I will,  at  this  time,  with  a 
hint  only  of  his  way  of  life,  leave  Mr.  William 
at  his  study  in  the  temple. 

The  youngest  son,  Mr.  John,  is  now  in  the 
twentieth  year  of  his  age,  and  has  had  the  good 
fortune  and  honour  to  be  chosen  last  election 
fellow  of  All-souls  college  in  Oxford.  He  is  very 
graceful  in  his  person  ; has  height,  strength,  vi- 
gour, and  a certain  cheerfulness  and  serenity 
that  creates  a sort  of  love,  which  people  at  first 
sight  observe  is  ripening  into  esteem.  He  has 
a sublime  vein  in  poetry,  and  a warm  manrier  in 
recommending,  either  in  speech  or  writing, 
whatever  he  has  earnestly  at  heart  This  ex- 


No.  14] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


25 


cellent  young  man  has  devoted  himself  to  the 
service  of  his  Creator ; and,  with  an  aptitude  to 
every  agreeable  quality,  and  every  happy  talent, 
that  could  make  a man  shine  in  a court,  or  com- 
mand in  a camp,  lie  is  resolved  to  go  into  holy 
orders.  He  is  inspired  with  a true  sense  of  that 
function,  when  chosen  from  a regard  to  the  in- 
terests of  piety  and  virtue,  and  a scorn  of  what- 
ever men  call  great  in  a transitory  being,  when 
it  comes  in  competition  with  what  is  unchange- 
able  and  eternal.  Whatever  men  would  under- 
take from  a passion  to  glory,  whatever  they 
would  do  for  the  service  of  their  country,  this 
youth  has  a mind  prepared  to  achiev’e  for  the 
salvation  of  souls.  What  gives  me  great  hopes 
that  he  will  one  day  make  an  extraordinary 
figure  in  the  Christian  world  is,  that  his  inven- 
tion, his  memory,  judgment,  and  imagination, 
are  always  employed  upon  this  one  view ; and  I 
do  not  doubt,  but  in  my  future  precautions,  to 
present  the  youth  of  this  age  with  more  agree- 
able narrations  compiled  by  this  young  man  on 
the  subject  of  heroic  piety,  than  any  they  can 
meet  with  in  the  legends  of  love  and  honour. 


No.  14.]  Friday^  March  27,  1713. 

Nec  sit,  qua  sit  iter,  nec  si  sciat  imperet 

Ovid.  Met.  Lib.  ii.  170. 

Nor  did  he  know 

Which  way  to  turn  the  reins,  or  where  to  go  ; 

Nor  would  the  horses,  had  he  known,  obey. 

Addison. 

* To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — You  having  in  your  first  paper  de- 
clared, among  other  things,  that  you  will  pub- 
lish whatever  you  think  may  conduce  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  the  conversation  of  gentlemen,  I 
cannot  but  hope  you  will  give  my  young  mas- 
ters, when  I have  told  you  their  age,  condition, 
and  how  they  lead  their  lives,  and  who,  though 
I say  it,  are  as  docile  as  any  youths  in  Europe, 
a lesson  which  they  very  much  want,  to  restrain 
them  from  the  infection  of  bad  company,  and 
squandering  away  their  time  in  idle  and  unwor- 
thy pursuits.  A word  from  you,  I am  very  well 
assured,  will  prevail  more  with  them  than  any 
remonstrance  they  will  meet  with  at  home. 
The  eldest  is  now  about  seventeen  years  of  age, 
and  the  younger  fifteen,  born  of  noble  parentage, 
and  to  plentiful  fortunes.  They  have  a very 
good  father  and  mother,  and  also  a governor, 
but  come  very  seldom  (except  against  their  wills) 
in  the  sight  of  any  of  them.  That  which  I ob- 
serve they  have  most  relish  to,  is  horses  and 
cock-fighting,  which  they  too  well  understand, 
being  almost  positive  at  first  sight  to  tell  you 
which  horse  will  win  the  match,  and  which  cock 
the  battle ; and  if  you  are  of  another  opinion, 
will  lay  you  what  you  please  on  their  own,  and 
it  is  odds  but  you  lose.  What  I fear  to  be  the 
greatest  prejudice  to  them,  is  their  keeping 
much  closer  to  their  horses’  heels  than  their 
books,  and  conversing  more  with  their  stable- 
men and  lackies  than  with  their  relations  and 
gentlemen  : and,  I apprehend,  are  at  this  time 
better  skilled  how  to  hold  the  reins  and  drive  a 
coach,  than  to  translate  a verse  in  Virgil  or  Ho- 
race.  For.  the  other  day,  taking  a walk  abroad. 


they  met  accidentally  in  the  fields  with  two 
young  ladies,  whose  conversation  they  were 
very  much  pleased  with,  and  being  desirous  to 
ingratiate  themselves  further  into  their  favour, 
prevailed  with  them,  though  they  had  never  seen 
them  before  in  their  lives,  to  take  the  air  in  a 
coach  of  their  father’s  which  waited  for  them  at 
the  end  of  Gray’s-inn-lane.  The  youths  ran 
with  the  wings  of  love,  and  ordered  the  coach- 
man to  wait  at  the  town’s  end  till  they  came 
back.  One  of  our  young  gentlemen  got  up  be- 
fore, and  the  other  behind,  to  act  the  parts  they 
had  long,  by  the  direction  and  example  of  their 
comrades,  taken  much  pains  to  qualify  them- 
selves  for,  and  so  gallopped  off.  What  these 
mean  entertainments  will  end  in,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  foresee  ; but  a precaution  upon  that  sub- 
ject might  prevent  very  great  calamities  in  a 
very  worthy  family,  who  take  in  your  papers, 
and  might  perhaps  be  alarmed  at  what  you  lay 
before  them  upon  this  subject.  I am,  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant,  T.  S.’ 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — I writ  to  you  on  the  twenty-first  of 
this  month,  which  you  did  not  think  fit  to  take 
notice  of ; it  gives  me  the  greater  trouble  that 
you  did  not,  because  I am  confident  the  father 
of  tlie  young  lads  whom  I mentioned,  would 
have  considered  how  far  what  was  said  in  my 
letter  concerned  himself ; upon  which  it  is  now 
too  late  to  reflect.  His  ingenious  son,  the  coach- 
man, aged  seventeen  years,  has  since  that  time, 
ran  away  with,  and  married  one  of  the  girls  I 
spoke  of  in  my  last.  The  manner  of  carrying 
on  the  intrigue,  as  I have  picked  it  out  of  the 
younger  brother,  who  is  almost  sixteen,  still  a 
bachelor,  was  as  follows.  One  of  the  young  wo- 
men whom  they  met  in  the  fields  seemed  very 
much  taken  with  my  master,  the  elder  son,  and 
\vas  prevailed  with  to  go  into  a cake-house  not 
far  off  the  town.  The  girl,  it  seems,  acted  her 
part  so  well,  as  to  enamour  the  boy,  and  make 
him  inquisitive  into  her  place  of  abode,  with  all 
other  questions  which  were  necessary  toward 
further  intimacy.  The  matter  was  so  managed, 
that  the  lad  was  made  to  believe  there  was  no 
possibility  of  conversing  with  her,  by  reason  of 
a very  severe  mother,  but  with  the  utmost  cau- 
tion. What,  it  seems,  made  the  mother,  for- 
sooth, the  more  suspicious  was,  that  because  the 
men  said  her  daughter  was  pretty,  somebody  or 
other  would  persuade  her  to  marry  while  she 
was  too  young  to  know  how  to  govern  a family. 
By  what  I can  learn  from  pretences  as  shallow 
as  this,  she  appeared  so  far  from  having  a design 
upon  her  lover,  that  it  seemed  impracticable  to 
him  to  get  her,  except  it  were  carried  on  with 
much  secrecy  and  skill.  Many  were  the  inter- 
views these  lovers  had  in  four-and-twenty  hours 
time  : for  it  was  managed  by  the  mother,  that 
he  should  run  in  and  out  as  unobserved  by  her, 
and  the  girl  be  called  every  other  instant  into 
the  next  room,  and  rated  (that  she  could  not  stay 
in  a place)  in  his  hearing.  The  young  gentle- 
man was  at  last  so  much  in  love,  as  to  be  thought 
by  the  daughter  engaged  far  enough  to  put  it  to 
the  venture  that  he  could  not  live  without  her. 
It  was  now  time  for  the  mother  to  appear,  who 
surprised  the  lovers  together  in  private,  and  ba- 


2G 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  15. 


nished  the  youth  her  house.  What  is  not  in  the 
power  of  love  ! the  charioteer,  attended  by  his 
faithful  friend,  the  younger  brother,  got  out  the 
other  morning  a little  earlier  than  ordinary,  and 
having  made  a sudden  friendship  v/ith  a lad  of 
their  own  age,  by  the  force  of  ten  shillings,  who 
drove  a hackney  coach,  the  elder  brother  took 
his  post  in  the  coach-box,  where  he-  could  act 
with  a great  deal  of  skill  and  dexterity,  and 
waited  at  the  corner  of  the  street  where  his  mis- 
tress lived,  in  hopes  of  carrying  her  oif  under 
that  disguise.  The  whole  day  was  spent  in  ex- 
pectation of  an  opportunity  ; but  in  many  parts 
of  it  he  had  kind  looks  from  a distant  window, 
which  was  answered  by  a brandish  of  his  whip, 
and  a compass  taken  to  drive  round  and  show 
his  activity,  and  readiness  to  convej'^  her  where 
she  should  command  him.  Upon  the  approach 
of  the  evening,  a note  was  thrown  into  his  coach 
by  a porter,  to  acquaint  him  that  his  mistress 
and  her  mother  should  take  coach  exactly  at 
seven  o’clock  ; but  that  the  mother  was  to  be 
set  down,  and  the  daughter  to  go  further,  and 
call  again.  The  happy  minute  came  at  last, 
when  our  hack  had  the  happiness  to  take  in  his 
expected  fare,  attended  by  her  mother,  and  the 


distinguish  that  they  were  poetry ; and  there- 
fore,  with  an  innocent  confusion  in  her  face,  she 
told  me  I might  read  them  if  I pleased,  and  so 
withdrew.  By  the  hand,  at  first  sight,  I could 
not  guess  whether  they  came  from  a beau  or  a 
lady  ; but  having  put  on  my  spectacles,  and  pe- 
rused them  carefully,  I found  by  some  peculiar 
modes  in  spelling,  and  a certain  negligence  in 
grammar,  that  it  was  a female  sonnet.  I have 
since  learned,  that  she  hath  a correspondent  in 
the  country,  who  is  as  bookish  as  herself ; that 
they  write  to  one  another  by  the  names  of  As- 
trea  and  Dorinda,  and  are  mightily  admired  for 
their  easy  lines.  As  J should  be  loth  to  have  a 
poetess  in  our  family,  and  yet  am  unwilling 
harshly  to  cross  the  bent  of  a young  lady’s 
genius,  I chose  rather  to  throw  together  some 
thoughts  upon  that  kind  of  poetry  which  is  dis- 
tinguished by  the  name  of  easy,  than  to  risk 
the  fame  of  Mrs.  Cornelia’s  friend,  by  exposing 
her  work  to  public  view. 

I have  said  in  a foregoing  paper,  that  every 
thought  which  is  agreeable  to  nature,  and  ex- 
pressed in  a language  suitable  to  it,  is  written 
with  ease  : which  I offered  in  answer  to  those 
who  ask  for  ease  in  all  kinds  of  poetry  ; and  it 


young  lady  with  whom  he  had  first  met  her.  I is  so  far  true,  as  it  states  the  notion  of  easy 

The  mother  was  set  down  in  the  Strand,  and  her  | writing  in  general,  as  that  is  opposed  to  what 

daughter  ordered  to  call  on  her  when  she  came  j is  forced  or  affected.  But  as  there  is  an  easy 

from  her  cousin’s,  an  hour  afterwards.  The  mo- j mien,  and  easy  dress,  peculiarly  so  called;  so 

ther  was  not  so  unskilful  as  not  to  have  instruct- 
ed her  daughter  whom  to  send  for,  and  how  to 


consent.  We  yet  know  no  further  particulars, 
but  that  my  young  master  was  married  that 
night  at  Knightsbridge,  in  the  presence  of  his 
brother  and  two  or  three  other  persons  ; and  that 
just  before  the  ceremony  he  took  his  brother 
aside,  and  asked  him  to  marry  the  other  young 
woman.  Now,  sir,  I will  not  harangue  upon 
this  adventure,  but  only  observe,  that  if  the  edu- 
cation of  this  compound  creature  had  been  more 


there  is  an  easy  sort  of  poetry.  In  order  to 
write  easily,  it  is  necessary,  in  the  first  place, 
to  think  easily.  Now,  according  to  different 
subjects,  men  think  differently  ; anger,  fury, 
and  the  rough  passions,  awaken  strong  thoughts; 
glory,  grandeur,  power,  raise  great  thoughts; 
love,  melancholy,  solitude,  and  whatever  gently 
touches  the  soul,  inspire  easy  thoughts. 

Of  the  thoughts  suggested  by  these  gentle 
subjects,  there  are  some  which  may  be  set  off 
by  style  and  ornament.  Others  there  are,  which 
the  more  simply  they  are  conceived,  and  the 


careful  as  to  his  rational  part,  the  animal  life  | more  clearly  they  are  expressed,  give  the  soul 


in  him  had  not,  perhaps,  been  so  forward,  but 
he  might  have  waited  longer  before  he  was  a 
husband.  However,  as  the  whole  town  will,  in 
a day  or  two,  know  the  names,  persons,  and 
other  circumstances,  I think  this  properly  lies 
before  your  guardianship  to  consider,  for  the  ad- 
monition of  others;  but  my  young  master’s  fate 
is  irrevocable.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant.’ 


proportionably  the  more  pleasing  emotions. 
The  figures  of  style  added  to  them  serve  only 
to  hide  a beauty,  however  gracefully  they  are 
put  on,  and  are  thrown  away  like  paint  upon  a 
fine  complexion.  But  here,  not  only  liveliness 
of  fancy  is  requisite  to  exhibit  a great  variety 
of  images,  but  also  niceness  of  judgment  to 
cull  out  those,  which,  without  the  advantage  of 
foreign  art,  will  shine  by  their  own  intrinsic 
beauty.  By  these  means,  whatsoever  seems  to 
demand  labour  being  rejected,  that  only  which 
appears  to  be  easy  and  natural  will  come  in , 
j and  so  art  w'ill  be  hid  by  art,  which  is  the  per- 
‘ fection  of  easy  writing. 

j I will  suppose  an  author  to  be  really  possessed 
I with  the  passion  which  he  writes  upon,  and 
I then  we  shall  see  how  he  would  acquit  himself. 

I This  I take  to  be  the  safest  way  to  form  a 
I judgment  of  him,  since  if  he  be  not  truly 
' moved,  he  must  at  least  work  up  his  imagina- 
I CAME  yesterday  into  the  parlour,  where  I | tion  as  near  as  possible,  to  resemble  reality.  I 


No.  15.] 


Saturday,  March  28,  1713.  | 


sibi  quivis, 

Speretidem,  sudet  multuin,  friistraque  laboret, 
Ausus  idem Hor.  Ars  Poet.  240. 

All  men  will  try,  and  hope  to  Write  as  well, 

And  (not  without  much  pains)  be  undeceived. 

Roscommon. 


found  Mrs.  Cornelia,  my  lady’s  third  daughter, 
all  alorte,  reading  a paper,  wliich,  as  I after- 
wards found,  contained  a copy  of  verses  upon 
love  and  friendship.  She,  I believe,  apprehended 


choose  to  instance  in  love,  which  is  observed  to 
have  produced  the  most  finished  performances 
in  this  kind.  A lover  will  be  full  of  sincerity, 
that  he  may  be  believed  by  his  mistress;  he 


that  I had  glanced  my  eye  upon  the  paper,  and  I wull,  therefore,  think  simply;  he  will  express 
by  the  order  and  disposition  of  the  lines  might  [ himself  perspicuously,  that  he  may  not  perplex 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


27 


No.  16. 


her ; he  will,  therefore,  write  unaffectedly.  Deep 
reflections  are  made  by  a head  undisturbed  ; and 
points  of  wit  and  fancy  are  the  work  of  a heart 
at  ease;  these  two  dangers  tlien,  into  which 
poets  are  apt  to  run,  are  effectually  removed  out 
of  the  lover’s  way.  The  selecting  proper  cir- 
cumstances, and  placing  theiji  in  agreeable 
lights,  are  the  finest  secrets  of  all  poetry ; but 
the  recollection  of  little  circumstances,  is  the 
lover’s  sole  meditation,  and  relating  them  plea- 
santly the  business  of  his  life.  Accordingly  we 
find  that  the  most  celebrated  authors  of  this 
rank  excel  in  love-verses.  Out  often  thousand 
instances  I shall  name  one,  which  I think  the 
most  delicate  and  tender  I ever  saw. 

‘ To  myself  I sigh  often,  without  knowing  why  : 

And  when  absent  from  Phyllis,  methinks  I could  die.’ 

A man  who  hath  ever  been  in  love  will  be 
touched  at  the  reading  of  these  lines  ; and  every 
one,  who  now  feels  that  passion,  actually  feels 
that  they  are  true. 

From  what  I have  advanced,  it  appears  how 
difficult  it  is  to  write  easily.  But  when  easy 
writings  fall  into  the  hands  of  an  ordinary 
reader,  they  appear  to  him  so  natural  and  un- 
laboured, that  he  immediately  resolves  to  write, 
and  fancies  that  all  he  hath  to  do  is  to  take  no 
pains.  Thus  he  thinks,  indeed  simply,  but  the 
thoughts,  not  being  chosen  with  judgment,  are 
not  beautiful : he,  it  is  true,  expresses  himself 
plainly,  but  flatly  withal.  Again,  if  a man  of 
vivacity  takes  it  in  his  head  to  write  this  way, 
what  self-denial  must  he  undergo,  when  bright 
points  of  wit  occur  to  his  fancy  ! How  difficult 
will  he  ^nd  it  to  reject  florid  phrases,  and  pretty 
embellishments  of  style  ! So  true  it  is,  that 
simplicity  of  all  things  is  the  hardest  to  be  co- 
pied, and  ease  to  be  acquired  with  the  greatest 
labour.  Our  family,  knows  very  well  how  ill 
lady  Flame  looked,  when  she  imitated  Mrs. 
Jane  in  a plain  black  suit.  And  I remember, 
when  Frank  Courtly  was  saying  the  other  day, 
that  any  man  might  write  easy,  I only  asked 
him,  if  he  thought  it  possible  that  squire  Haw- 
thorn should  ever  come  into  a room  as  he  did  ? 
He  made  me  a very  handsome  bow,  and  an- 
swered, with  a smile,  ‘ Mr.  Ironside,  you  have 
convinced  me.’ 

I shall  conclude  tliis  paper  by  observing  that 
pastoral  poetry,  which  is  the  most  considerable 
kind  of  easy  writing,  hath  the  oftenest  been  at- 
tempted with  ill  success,  of  any  sort  whatso- 
ever. I shall,  therefore,  in  a little  time,  com- 
municate my  thoughts  upon  that  subject  to  the 
public. 


No.  16.]  Monday,  March  30,  1713. 

Ne  forte  pmlori 

Sit  tibi,  musa  lyra  solers,  et  cantor  Apollo. 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  40G. 

Blush  not  to  patronise  the  muse’s  skill. 

Two  mornings  ago  a gentleman  came  in  to 
my  lady  Lizard’s  tea-table,  who  is  distinguished 
in  town  by  the  good  taste  he  is  known  to  have 
in  polite  writings,  especially  such  as  relate  to 
love  and  gallantry.  The  figure  of  the  man  had 
something  odd  and  grotesque  in  it,  though  his 


air  and  manner  were  genteel  and  easy,  and  his 
wit  agreeable.  The  ladies  in  complaisance  to 
him  turned  the  discourse  to  poetry.  This  soon 
gave  him  an  occasion  of  producing  two  new 
songs  to  the  company  ; which,  he  said,  he  would 
venture  to  recommend  as  complete  perform- 
ances. The  first,  continued  he,  is  by  a gentle- 
man of  an  unrivalled  reputation  in  every  kind 
of  writing  ; and  the  second  by  a lady  who  does 
me  the  honour  to  be  in  love  with  me,  because  I 
am  not  handsome.  Mrs.  Annabella  upon  this 
(who  never  lets  slip  an  occasion  of  doing 
sprightly  things,)  gives  a twitch  to  the  paper 
with  a finger  and  a thumb,  and  snatches  it  out 
of  the  gentleman’s  hands  : then  casting  her  eye 
over  it  with  a seeming  impatience,  she  read  us 
the  songs : and  in  a very  obliging  manner  de- 
sired the  gentleman  would  let  her  have  a copy 
of  them,  together  with  his  judgment  upon 
songs  in  general ; that  I may  be  able,  said  she, 
to  judge  of  gallantries  of  this  nature,  if  ever  it 
should  be  my  fortune  to  have  a poetical  lover. 
The  gentleman  complied  ; and  accordingly  Mrs. 
Annabella,  the  very  next  morning,  when  she 
was  at  her  toilet,  had  the  following  packet  de- 
livered to  her  by  a spruce  valet  de  chambre. 

THE  FIRST  SONG. 

I. 

On  Belvidera’s  bosom  lyiii", 

Wishing,  panting,  sighing,  dying, 

The  cold  regardless  maid  to  move, 

With  unavailing  prayers  I sue; 

‘ You  first  have  taught  me  how  to  love. 

Ah  teach  me  to  be  happy  too !’ 

II. 

Rut  she,  alas ! unkindly  Ivise, 

To  all  thy  sighs  and  tears  replies, 

‘ 'Tis  every  prudent  maid’s  concern 
Her  lover’s  fondness  to  improve ; 

If  to  be  happy  you  shall  learn. 

You  quickly  would  forget  to  love.’  •> 

THE  SECOND  SONG. 

I. 

Boast  not,  mistaken  swain,  thy  art 
To  please  my  partial  eyes; 

The  charms  that  have  subdued  my  heart, 

Another  may  despise. 

II. 

Thy  face  is  to  my  humour  made. 

Another  it  may  fright : 

Perhaps,  by  some  fond  whim  betrayed, 

In  oddness  I delight. 

III. 

Vain  youth,  to  your  confusion  know, 

’Tis  to  my  love’s  excess 
You  all  your  fancied  beauties  owe. 

Which  fade  as  that  grows  less. 

IV. 

For  your  own  sake,  if  not  for  mine. 

You  should  preserve  my  fire  : 

Since  you,  my  swain,  no  more  will  shine, 

When  I no  more  admire. 

V. 

Byrne,  indeed,  you  are  allow’d 
The  wonder  of  your  kind  : 

But  be  not  of  my  judgment  proud, 

Whom  love  has  rendered  blind. 

‘ To  BIrs.  Annabella  Lizard. 

‘ Madam, — To  let  you  see  how  absolute  your 
commands  are  over  me,  and  to  convince  you  of 
the  opinion  I have  of  your  good  sense,  I shall, 
without  any  preamble  of  compliments,  give  you 
my  thoughts  upon  song-writing,  in  the  same 


5J3 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  17. 


order  as  they  have  occurred  to  me,  only  allow 
me,  in  my  own  defence  to  say,  that  I do  not 
remember  ever  to  have  met  with  any  piece  of 
criticism  upon  this  subject ; so  that  if  I err,  or 
seem  singular  in  my  opinions,  you  will  be  the 
more  at  liberty  to  differ  from  them,  since  I do 
not  pretend  to  support  them  by  any  authority. 

‘ In  all  ages,  and  in  every  nation  where  poetry 
has  been  in  fashion,  the  tribe  of  sonnetteers 
have  been  very  numerous.  Every  pert  young 
fellow  that  has  a moving  fancy,  and  the  least 
jingle  cf  verse  in  his  head,  sets  up  for  a writer 
of  songs,  and  resolves  to  immortalize  his  bottle 
or  his  mistress.  What  a world  of  insipid  pro- 
ductions in  this  kind  have  we  been  pestered 
with  since  the  revolution,  to  go  no  higher  ! This, 
no  doubt,  proceeds  in  a great  measure  from  not 
forming  a right  judgment  of  the  nature  of  these 
little  compositions.  It  is  true  they  do  not  re- 
quire an  elevation  of  thought,  nor  any  extraor- 
dinary capacity,  nor  an  extensive  knowledge ; 
but  then  they  demand  great  regularity,  and  the 
utmost  nicety ; and  exact  purity  of  style,  with 
the  most  easy  and  flowing  numbers  ; an  elegant 
and  unaffected  turn  of  wit,  with  one  uniform 
and  simple  design.  Greater  works  cannot  well 
be  without  some  inequalities  and  oversights,  and 
they  are  in  them  pardonable ; but  a song  loses 
all  its  lustre  if  it  be  not  polished  with  the 
greatest  accuracy.  The  smallest  blemish  in  it, 
like  a flaw  in  a jewel,  takes  off  the  whole  value 
of  it.  A song  is,  as  it  were,  a little  image  in 
enamel,  that  requires  all  the  nice  touches  of  the 
pencil,  a gloss  and  a smoothness,  with  those 
delicate  finishing  strokes,  which  would  be  su- 
perfluous and  thrown  away  upon  larger  figures, 
where  the  strength  and  boldness  of  a masterly 
hand  gives  all  the  grace. 

‘ Since  you  may  have  recourse  to  the  French 
and  English  translations,  you  will  not  accuse 
me  of  pedantry,  when  I tell  you  that  Sappho, 
Anacreon,  and  Horace  in  some  of  his  shorter 
lyrics,  are  the  completest  models  for  little  odes 
or  sonnets.  You  will  find  them  generally  pur- 
suing a single  thought  in  their  songs,  which  is 
driven  to  a point,  without  those  interruptions 
and  deviations  so  frequent  in  the  modern  writers 
of  this  order.  To  do  justice  to  the  French,  there 
is  no  living  language  that  abounds  so  mueh  in 
good  songs.  The  genius  of  the  people,  and  the 
idiom  of  their  tongue,  seems  adapted  to  compo- 
sitions  of  this  sort.  Our  writers  generally 
crowd  into  one  song,  materials  enough  for  seve- 
ral ; and  so  they  starve  every  thought,  by  en- 
deavouring to  nurse  up  more  than  one  at  a time. 
They  give  you  a string  of  imperfect  sonnets, 
instead  of  one  finished  piece,  which  is  a fault 
Mr.  Waller  (whose  beauties  cannot  be  too  much 
admired)  sometimes  falls  into.  But,  of  all  our 
countrymen,  none  are  more  defective  in  their 
songs,  through  a redundancy  of  wit,  than  Dr. 
Donne  and  Mr.  Cowley.  In  them,  one  point  of 
wit  flashes  so  fast  upon  another,  that  the  read- 
er’s attention  is  dazzled  by  the  continual  spark- 
ling of  their  imagination  ; you  find  a new  design 
started  almost  in  every  line,  and  you  come  to 
the  end  without  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  any 
one  of  them  executed. 

‘ A song  should  be  conducted  like  an  epigram ; 
and  the  only  difference  between  them  is,  that 


one  does  not  require  the  lyric  numbers,  and  is 
usually  employed  upon  satirical  occasions  ; 
whereas,  the  business  of  the  other,  for  the  most 
part,  is  to  express  (as  my  lord  Roscommon  trans- 
lates it  from  Horace) 

“ Love’s  pleasing  cares,  and  the  free  joys  of  wine.” 

‘ I shall  conclude  what  I have  to  say  upon 
this  subject,  by  observing,  that  the  French  do 
very  often  confound  the  song  and  the  epigram, 
and  take  the  one  reciprocally  for  the  other.  An 
instance  of  which  I shall  give  you  in  a remark- 
able epigram  which  passes  current  abroad  for 
an  excellent  song. 

” Tu  paries  mal  par-tout  de  moi, 

Je  dis  du  bien  par-tout  de  toi ; 

Quel  malheur  est  le  notre  ? 

L’on  ne  croit  ni  I’un  ni  I’autre.” 

‘ For  the  satisfaction  of  such  of  your  friends 
as  may  not  understand  the  original,  I shall  ven- 
ture to  translate  it  after  my  fashion,  so  as  to 
keep  strictly  the  turn  of  thought,  at  the  expense 
of  losing  something  in  the  poetry  and  versifica- 
tion. 

“ Thou  speakest  always  ill  of  me, 

I speak  always  well  of  thee ; 

But  spite  of  all  our  noise  and  pother. 

The  world  believes  nor  one  nor  ’tolher.’ 

‘ Thus,  madam,  I have  endeavoured  to  com 
ply  with  your  commands  ; not  out  of  vanity  of 
erecting  myself  into  a critic,  but  out  of  an  ear 
nest  desire  of  being  thought,  upon  all  occasions, 
your  most  obedient  servant.’ 


No.  17.]  Tuesday,  March  31,  1713. 

— Minimumque  libidine  peccant. — Juv.  Sat.  vi.  134 

Lust  is  the  smallest  sin  they  own.  Dryden. 

If  it  were  possible  to  bear  up  against  the 
force  of  ridicule,  which  fashion  has  brought 
upon  people  for  acknowledging  a veneration  for 
the  most  sacred  things,  a man  might  say  that 
the  time  we  now  are  in,  is  set  apart  for  humili- 
ation ; and  all  our  actions  should,  at  present, 
more  particularly  tend  that  way.  I remember 
about  thirty  years  ago  an  eminent  divine,  who 
was  also  most  exactly  well-bred,  told  his  con- 
gregation at  Whitehall,  that  if  they  did  not 
vouchsafe  to  give  their  lives  a new  turn,  they 
must  certainly  go  to  a place  which  he  did  not 
think  fit  to  name  in  that  courtly  audience.  It 
is  with  me  as  with  that  gentleman.  I would, 
if  possible,  represent  the  errors  of  life,  especially 
those  arising  from  what  we  call  gallantry,  in 
such  a manner  as  the  people  of  pleasure  may 
read  me.  In  this  case,  I must  not  be  rough  to 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  but  speak  of  sin  as  a gen- 
tleman. It  might  not  perhaps  be  amiss,  if, 
therefore,  I should  call  my  present  precaution, 
A Criticism  upon  Fornication  ; and,  by  repre- 
senting the  unjust  taste  they  have  who  affect 
that  way  of  pleasure,  bring  a distaste  upon  it 
among  all  those  who  are  judicious  in  their  sa- 
tisfactions. I will  be  bold  then  to  lay  down  for 
a rule,  that  he  who  follows  this  kind  of  gratifi- 
cation, gives  up  much  greater  delight  by  pur- 
suing it,  that  he  can  possibly  enjoy  from  it.  As 
to  the  common  \vomen  and  the  stews,  there  is 
no  one  but  will  allow  this  assertion  at  first  sight; 
but  if  it  will  appear,  that  they  who  deal  with 


No.  17.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


29 


those  of  the  sex  who  are  less  profligate,  descend 
to  greater  basenesses  than  if  they  frequented 
brothels,  it  should,  methinks,  bring  this  iniquity 
under  some  discountenance.  The  rake  who, 
without  sense  of  character  or  decency,  wallows 
and  ranges  in  common  houses,  is  guilty  no  far- 
ther than  of  prostituting  himself,  and  exposing 
his  health  to  diseases  : but  the  man  of  gallantry 
cannot  pursue  his  pleasures  without  treacfiery 
to  some  man  he  ought  to  love,  and  making 
despicable  the  woman  he  admires.  To  live  in 
a continual  deceit ; to  reflect  upon  the  disho- 
nour you  do  some  husband,  father,  or  brother, 
who  does  not  deserve  this  of  you,  and  whom 
you  would  destroy  did  you  know  they  did  the 
like  towards  you,  are  circumstances  which  pall 
the  appetite,  and  give  a man  of  any  sense  of 
honour  very  painful  mortification.  What  more 
need  be  said  against  a gentleman’s  delight,  than 
that  he  himself  thinks  himself  a base  man  in 
pursuing  it ; when  it  is  thoroughly  considered, 
he  gives  up  his  very  being  as  a man  of  integrity 
who  commences  gallant  7 Let  him  or  her  who 
is  guilty  this  way  but  weigh  the  matter  a little, 
and  the  criminal  will  find  that  those  whom  they 
most  esteemed,  are  of  a sudden  become  the  most 
disagreeable  companions  : nay,  their  good  qua- 
lities are  grown  odious  and  painful.  It  is  said, 
people  who  have  the  plague,  have  a delight  in 
communicating  the  infection : in  like  manner, 
the  sense  of  shame,  which  is  never  wholly  over- 
come, inclines  the  guilty  this  wa}’’  to  contribute 
to  the  destruction  of  others.  And  women  are 
pleased  to  introduce  more  women  into  the  same 
condition,  though  they  can  have  no  other  satis- 
faction from  it,  than  that  the  infamy  is  shared 
among  greater  numbers,  which  they  flatter 
themselves  eases  the  burden  of  each  particular 
person. 

It  is  a most  melancholy  consideration,  that 
for  momentary  sensations  of  joy,  obtained  by 
stealth,  men  are  forced  into  a constraint  of  all 
their  words  and  actions  in  the  general  and  ordi- 
nary occurrences  of  life.  It  is  an  impossibility 
in  this  case  to  b“e  faithful  to  one  person,  without 
being  false  to  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  gay 
figures  in  which  poetical  men  of  loose  morals 
have  placed  this  kind  of  stealth,  are  but  feeble 
consolations,  when  a man  is  inclined  to  soliloquy 
or  meditation  upon  his  past  life  ; flashes  of  wit 
can  promote  joy,  but  they  cannot  allay  grief. 

Disease,  sickness,  and  misfortune,  are  what 
all  men  living  are  liable  to  : it  is  therefore  ridi- 
culous and  mad  to  pursue,  instead  of  shunning, 
what  must  add  to  our  anguish  under  disease, 
siekness,  or  misfortune.  It  is  possible  there  may 
be  those  whose  blood  are  too  warm  to  admit  of 
these  compunctions ; if  there  are  such,  I am  sure 
they  are  laying  up  store  for  them  : but  I have 
better  hopes  of  those  who  have  not  yet  erased 
the  impressions  and  advantages  of  a good  edu- 
cation and  fortune  ; they  may  be  assured,  ‘ that 
whoever  wholly  give  themselves  up  to  lust,  will 
find  it  the  least  fault  they  are  guilty  of.’ 

Irreconcilable  hatred  to  those  they  have  in- 
jured, mean  shifts  to  cover  their  offences,  envy 
and  malice  to  the  innocent,  and  a general  sacri- 
fice of  all  that  is  good-natured  or  praiseworthy 
when  it  interrupts  them,  will  possess  all  their 
faculties,  and  make  them  utter  strangers  to  the 


noble  pleasures  which  flow  from  honour  and 
virtue.  Happy  are  they,  who,,  from  the  viait-- 
ation  of  sickness,  or  any  other  accident,  aro 
awakened  from  a course  which  leads  to  an  in- 
sensibility of  the  greatest  enjoyments  in  human 
life. 

A French  author,  giving  an  account  of  a very 
agreeable  man,  in  whose  character  he  mingles 
good  qualities  and  infirmities,  rather  than  vices 
and  virtues,  tells  the  following  story  ; 

‘ Our  knight,’  says  he,  ‘ v/as  pretty  much  ad- 
dicted to  the  most  fashionable  of  all  faults.  He 
had  a loose  rogue  for  a lackey,  not  a little  in  his- 
favour,  though  he  had  no  other  name  for  him- 
when  he  spoke  of  him  but  “the  rascal,”  or,  to  him,, 
but  “sirrah.”  One  morning  when  he  was  dress- 
ing, “Sirrah,”  says  he,  “ be  sure  you  bring  home- 
this  evening  a pretty  wench.”  The  fellow  was  a 
person  of  diligence  and  capacity,  and  had  for 
some  time  addressed  himself  to  a decayed  old 
gentlewoman,  who  had  a young  maiden  to  her 
daughter,  beauteous  as  an  angel,  not  yet  sixteen 
years  of  age.  The  mother’s  extreme  poverty,  and 
the  insinuations  of  this  artful  lackey  concerning 
the  soft  disposition  and  generosity  of  his  master, 
made  her  consent  to  deliver  up  her  daughter.  But 
many  were  the  entreaties  and  representations  of 
the  mother  to  gain  her  child’s  consent  to  an  ac- 
tion, which  she  said  she  abhorred,  at  the  same 
time  she  exhorted  her  to  it ; “ but  child,”  says 
she,  “ can  you  see  your  mother  die  for  hunger  ?” 
The  virgin  argued  no  longer,  but  bursting  into 
tears,  said  she  would  go  any  where.  The  lackey 
conveyed  her  with  great  obsequiousness  and  se- 
crecy to  his  master’s  lodging,  and  placed  her  in 
a cornmodious  apartment  till  he  came  home. 
The  knight,  who  knew  his  man  never  failed  of 
bringing  in  his  prey,  indulged  his  genius  at  a 
banquet,  and  was  in  high  humour  at  an  enter- 
tainment with  ladies,  expecting  to  be  received, 
in  the  evening  by  one  as  agreeable  as  the  best 
of  them.  When  he  came  home,  his  lackey  met 
him  with  a saucy  and  joyful  familiarity,  crying 
out,  “ She  is  as  handsome  as  an  angel,  (for  there 
is  no  other  simile  on  these  occasions,)  but  the 
tender  fool  has  wept  till  her  eyes  are  swelled  and 
bloated  : for  she  is  a maid  and  a gentlewoman.” 
With  that,  he  conducted  his  master  to  the  room 
where  she  was,  and  retired.  The  knight,  when 
he  saw  her  bathed  in  tears,  said  in  some  sur- 
prise, “ Don’t  you  know,  young  woman,  why 
you  are  brought  hither?”  The  unhappy  maid 
fell  on  her  knees,  and  with  many  interruptions 
of  sighs  and  tears,  said  to  him  “ I know,  alas ! 
too  well  why  I am  brought  hither;  my  mother, 
to  get  bread  for  her  and  myself,  has  sent  me  to 
do  what  you  pleased  ; but  would  it  would  please 
Heaven  I could  die,  before  I am  added  to  the 
number  of  those  miserable  wretches  who  live 
without  honour!”  With  this  reflection,  she 
wept  anew,  and  beat  her  bosom.  The  knight, 
stepping  back  from  her,  said,  “ I am  not  so 
abandoned  as  to  hurt  your  innocence  against 
your  will.” 

‘ The  novelty  of  the  accident  surprised  him 
into  virtue ; and,  covering  the  young  maid  with 
a cloak,  he  led  her  to  a relation’s  house,  to 
whose  care  he  recommended  her  for  that  night. 
The  next  morning  he  sent  for  her  mother,  and 
asked  her  if  her  daughter  was  a maid  ? The 


30 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  18. 


mother  assured  him,  that  when  she  delivered 
he.'r  to  his  servant,  she  was  a stranger  to  man. 
* ‘ Are  not  you  then,”  replied  the  knight,  “ a 
wicked  woman  to  contrive  the  debauchery  of 
your  own  child?”  She  held  down  her  face  with 
fear  and  shame,  and  in  her  confusion  uttered 
some  broken  words  concerning  her  poverty. 
“ Far  be  it,”  said  the  gentleman,  “ that  you 
should  relieve  yourself  from  want  by  a much 
greater  evil : your  daughter  is  a fine  young 
creature ; do  you  know  of  none  that  ever  spoke 
of  her  for  a wife  ?”  The  mother  answered, 
“ There  is  an  honest  man  in  our  neighbourhood 
that  loves  her,  who  has  often  said  he  would 
marry  her  with  two  hundred  pounds.”  The 
knight  ordered  his  man  to  reckon  out  that  sum, 
with  an  addition  of  fifty  to  buy  the  bride  clothes 
and  fifty  more  as  a help  to  her  mother.’ 

I appeal  to  all  the  gallants  in  the  town,  whe- 
ther possessing  all  the  beauties  in  Great  Britain 
could  give  half  the  pleasure  as  this  young  gen- 
tleman  had  in  the  reflection  of  having  relieved 
a miserable  parent  from  guilt  and  poverty,  an 
innocent  virgin  from  public  shame,  and  bestow- 
ing  a virtuous  wife  upon  an  honest  man  ? 

As  all  men  who  are  guilty  this  way  have  not 
fortunes  or  opportunities  for  making  such  atone- 
ments for  their  vices,  yet  all  men  may  do  what 
is  certainly  in  their  power  at  this  good  season. 
For  my  part,  I do  not  care  how  ridiculous  the 
mention  of  it  may  be,  provided  I hear  it  has 
any  good  consequence  upon  the  wretched,  that 
I recommend  the  most  abandoned  and  misera- 
ble of  mankind  to  the  charity  of  all  in  prosper- 
ous conditions  under  the  same  guilt  with  those 
wretches.  Tlie  Lock  hospital  in  Kent  street 
Southwark,  for  men  ; that  in  Kingsland  for  wo- 
men, is  a receptacle  for  all  sufferers  mangled 
by  this  iniquity.  Penitents  should  in  their  own 
hearts  take  upon  them  all  the  shame  and  sor- 
row they  have  escaped  ; and  it  would  become 
them  to  make  an  oblation  for  their  crimes,  by 
charity  to  those  upon  whom  vice  appears  in 
that  utmost  misery  and  deformity,  which  they 
themselves  are  free  from  by  their  better  for- 
tune, rather  than  greater  innocence.  It  would 
quicken  our  compassion  in  this  case,  if  we 
considered  there  may  be  objects  there,  who 
would  now  move  horror  and  loathing,  that  we 
have  once  embraced  with  transport : and  as  we 
are  men  of  honour  (for  I must  not  speak  as  we 
are  Christians)  let  us  not  desert  our  friends  for 
the  loss  of  their  noses. 


No.  18.]  Wednesday^  April  1,  1713. 

Animaeque  capaces 

Mortis Lucan. 

Souls  undismayed  by  death. 

The  prospect  of  death  is  so  gloomy  and  dis- 
mal, that  if  it  were  constantly  before  our  eyes 
it  would  embitter  all  the  sw'eets  of  life.  The 
gracious  Author  of  our  being  hath  therefore  so 
formed  us,  that  we  are  capable  of  many  pleasing 
sensations  and  reflections,  and  meet  with  so 
many  amusements  and  solicitudes,  as  divert  our 
thoughts  from  dwelling  upon  an  evil,  which,  by 
reason  of  its  seeming  distance,  makes  but  lan- 


guid impressions -upon  the  mind.  But  how  dis- 
tant soever  the  time  of  our  death  may  be,  since 
it  is  certain  that  we  must  die,  it  is  necessary  to 
allot  some  portion  of  our  life  to  consider  the  end 
of  it ; and  it  is  highly  convenient  to  fix  some 
stated  times  to  meditate  upon  the  final  period  of 
our  existence  here.  The  principle  of  self-love, 
as  M'e  are  men,  will  make  us  inquire,  what  is 
like  to  become  of  us  after  our  dissolution  ; and 
our  conscience,  as  we  are  Christians,  will  inform 
us,  that  according  to  the  good  or  evil  of  our  ac- 
tions here,  we  shall  be  translated  to  the  man- 
sions of  eternal  bliss  or  misery.  When  this  is 
seriously  weighed,  we  must  think  it  madness  to 
be  unprepared  against  the  black  moment : but 
when  we  reflect  that  perhaps  that  black  moment 
may  be  to-night,  how  watchful  ought  we  to  be  I 
I was  wonderfully  affected  with  a discourse  i 
I had  lately  with  a clergyman  of  my  acquaint-  ; 
ance  upon  this  head,  which  was  to  this  effect : 
‘The  consideration,’  said  the  good  man,  ‘that 
my  being  is  precarious,  moved  me  many  years 
ago,  to  make  a resolution,  which  I have  dili- 
gently kept,  and  to  which  I owe  the  greatest  i 

satisfaction  that  a mortal  man  can  enjoy.  | 

Every  night  before  I address  myself  in  private 
to  my  Creator,  I lay  my  hand  upon  my  heart,  | 
and  ask  myself,  whether  if  God  should  re-  I 
quire  my  soul  of  me  this  night,  I could  hope  for  j 
mercy  from  him  ? The  bitter  agonies  I under-  t 
went  in  this  my  first  acquaintance  with  myself  I 
were  so  far  from  throwing  me  into  despair  of  i 
that  mercy  which  is  over  all  God’s  w'orks,  that  i 
they  rather  proved  motives  to  greater  circum-  i 
spection  in  my  future  conduct.  The  oftener  I 
exercised  myself  in  meditations  of  this  kind, 
the  less  was  my  anxiety  ; and  by  making  the 
thoughts  of  death  familiar,  what  was  at  first 
so  terrible  and  shocking,  is  become  the  sweetest 
of  my  enjoyments.  Th^ese  contemplations  have 
indeed  made  me  serious,  but  not  sullen  ; nay, 
they  are  so  far  from  having  soured  my  temper, 
that  as  I have  a mind  perfectly  composed,  and 
a secret  spring  of  joy  in  my  heart,  so  my  con- 
versation is  pleasant,  and  my  countenance,  se- 
rene ; I taste  all  the  innocent  satisfactions  of 
life  pure  and  sincere  ; I have  no  share  in  plea- 
sures that  leave  a sting  behind  them,  nor  am  I 
cheated  with  that  kind  of  mirth,  “ in  the  midst 
of  which  there  is  heaviness.”  ’ 

Of  all  the  professions  of  men,  a soldier’s, 
chiefly,  should  put  him  upon  this  religious  vigi- 
lance. His  duty  exposes  him  to  such  hazards, 
that  the  evil  which  to  men  in  other  stations 
may  seem  far  distant,  to  him  is  instant,  and 
ever  before  his  eyes.  The  consideration,  that 
what  men  in  a martial  life  purchase  is  gained 
with  danger  and  labour,  and  must  perhaps  be 
parted  with  very  speedily,  is  the  cause  of  much 
licence  and  riot.  As  moreover  it  is  necessary 
to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  those  who  are  to  en- 
counter the  most  terrible  dangers,  offences  of 
this  nature  meet  with  great  indulgence.  But 
there  is  a courage  better  founded  than  this 
animal  fury.  The  secret  assurance,  that  all 
is  right  within,  that  if  he  falls  in  battle,  he  will 
the  more  speedily  be  crowmed  with  true  glory, 
will  add  strength  to  a warrior’s  arm,  and  intre- 
pidity to  his  heart. 

One  of  the  most  successful  stratagems  where- 


So.  19.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


31 


by  Mahomet  became  formidable,  was  the  as- 
surance that  impostor  gave  his  votaries,  that 
whoever  was  slain  in  battle  should  be  imme- 
diately conveyed  to  that  luxurious  paradise  his 
wanton  fancy  had  invented.  The  ancient  Druids 
taught  a doctrine  which  had  the  same  effect, 
though  with  this  difference  from  Mahomet’s, 
that  the  souls  of  the  slain  should  transmigrate 
into  other  bodies,  and  in  them  be  rev/arded  ac- 
cording to  the  degrees  of  their  merit.  This  is 
told  by  Lucan  with  his  usual  spirit. 

‘ You  teach  that  souls,  from  fleshy  claims  unbound, 
Seek  not  pale  shades  and  Erebus  profound, 

But  fleetini;  hence  to  other  regions  stray. 

Once  more  to  mix  with  animated  clay ; 

Hence  death's  a gap  (if  men  may  trust  the  lore) 
’Twixt  lives  behind  and  ages  yet  before. 

A blest  mistake!  which  fate’s  dread  power  disarms; 
And  spurs  its  vot'ries  on  to  war’s  alarms  ; 

Lavish  of  life,  they  rush  with  fierce  delight 
Amidst  the  legions,  and  provoke  the  fight ; 
0’ermatchin<r  death,  and  freely  cast  away 
That  loan  of  life  the  gods  are  bound  to  pay.’ 

Our  gallant  countryman,  sir  Philip  Sidney, 
was  a noble  example  of  courage  and  devotion. 
I am  particularly  pleased  to  find  that  he  hath 
translated  the  whole  book  of  Psalms  into  Eng- 
lish verse.  A friend  of  mine  informs  me,  that 
he  hath  the  manuscript  by  him,  which  is  said 
in  the  title  to  have  been  done,  By  the  most 
noble  and  virtuous  gent,  sir  Philip  Sidney, 
knight.’  They  having  been  never  printed,  I 
sliall  present  the  public,  with  one  of  them, 
which  my  correspondent  assures  me  he  hath 
faithfully  transcribed,  and  wherein  I have  taken 
the  liberty  only  to  alter  one  word. 

PSALM  CXXXVIL* 

I. 

Nigh  seated  where  the  river  flows. 

That  watefeth  Babel’s  thankful  plain. 

Which  then  our  tears,  in  pearled  rows. 

Did  help  to  water  with  the  rain  : 

The  thought  of  Sion  bred  such  woes. 

That  though  our  harps  we  did  retain. 

Yet  useless  and  untoudied  there. 

On  willows  only  bang'd  they  were. 

II. 

Now  while  our  harps  were  hanged  so. 

The  men  whose  captives  then  we  lay. 

Did  on  our  griefs  insulting  go. 

And  more  to  grieve  us  thus  did  say ; 

You  that  of  music  make  such  show. 

Come  sing  us  now  a Sion's  lay: 

Oh  no ! we  have  nor  voice  nor  hand 
For  such  a song  in  such  a land. 

III. 

Though  far  I be,  sweet  Sion  hill. 

In  foreign  soil  exil'd  from  thee. 

Yet  let  my  hand  forget  his  skill 
If  ever  thou  forgotten  be ; 

And  let  my  longue  fast  glevved  still 
Unto  my  roof,  lie  mute  in  me  ; 

If  thy  neglect  within  me  spring. 

Or  aught  I do  but  Salem  sing. 

IV. 

But  thou,  OLord,  shall  not  forget 
To  quit  the  pains  of  Edom’s  race, 

Who  causelessly,  yet  hotly  set 
Thy  holy  city  to  deface. 

Did  thus  the  bloody  victors  whet. 

What  time  they  enter’d  lirst  the  place, 

‘ Down,  down  with  it  at  any  hand. 

Make  all  a waste,  let  nothing  stand.’ 


* Dr.  Donne’s  Poems,  &c.  Ps.  137,  edit.  1719. 


V. 

And  Babylon,  that  didst  us  w-aste. 

Thyself  shall  one  day  wasted  be: 

And  happy  he,  who  what  thou  hast 
Unto  us  done,  shall  do  to  thee  : 

Like  bitterness  shall  make  thee  taste. 

Like  wofiil  objects  make  thee  see : 

Yea,  happy  who  thy  little  ones 
Shall  take  and  dash  against  the  stones. 


No.  19.]  Thursday,  April  2,  1713. 

Ne  te  semper  inops  agitet  vexetque  cupido ; 

Ne  pavor,  et  rerum  mediocriter  utilium  spes. 

JJor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  xviii.  98. 

Lest  avarice,  still  poor,  disturb  thine  ease  ; 

Or  fear  should  shake,  or  cares  thy  mind  abuse. 

Or  ardent  hope  for  things  of  little  use.  Creech. 

It  was  prettily  observed  by  somebody  con- 
cerning the  great  vices,  that  tliere  are  three 
which  give  pleasure,  as  covetousness,  gluttony, 
and  lust ; one  whieh  tastes  of  nothing  but  pain, 
as  envy ; the  rest  have  a mixture  of  pleasure 
and  pain,  as  anger  and  pride.  But  when  a man 
considers  the  state  of  his  own  mind,  about 
which  every  member  of  the  Christian  world  is 
supposed  at  this  time  to  be  employed,  he  will 
find  that  the  best  defence  against  vice  is  pre- 
serving the  worthiest  part  of  his  own  spirit  pure 
from  any  great  offence  against  it.  There  is  a 
magnanimity  whieh  makes  us  look  upon  our- 
selves with  disdain,  after  we  have  been  betrayed 
by  sudden  desire,  opportunity  of  gain,  the  ab- 
sence of  a person  who  excels  us,  the  fault  of  a 
servant,  nr  the  ill  fortune  of  an  adversary,  into 
the  gratification  of  lust,  covetousness,  envy, 
rage,  or  pride  ; when  the  more  sublime  part  of 
our  souls  is  kept  alive,  and  we  have  not  repeated 
infirmities  till  they  are  become  vicious  habits. 

The  vice  of  covetousness  is  what  enters  deep- 
est into  the  soul  of  any  other;  and  you  may  have 
seen  men,  otherwise  the  most  agreeable  crea- 
tures in  the  world,  so  seized  with  the  desire  of 
being  richer,  that  they  shall  startle  at  indiffer- 
ent things,  and  live  in  a continual  guard  and 
watch  over  themselves  from  a remote  fear  of 
expense.  No  pious  man  can  be  so  circumspect 
in  the  care  of  his  conscience,  as  the  covetous 
man  is  in  that  of  his  pocket. 

If  a man  would  preserve  his  own  spirit,  and 
his  natural  approbation  of  higher  and  more 
wortliy  pursuits,  he  could  never  fall  into  this 
littleness,  but  his  mind  Vvould  be  still  open  to 
honour  and  virtue,  in  spite  of  infirmities  and  re- 
lapses. But  what  extremely  discourages  me  in 
my  precautions  as  a Guardian,  is,  that  there  is 
a universal  defection  from  the  admiration  of 
virtue.  Riches  and  outward  splendour  have 
taken  up  the  place  of  it ; and  no  man  thinks  he 
is  mean,  if  he  is  not  poor.  But  alas  ! this  des- 
picable spirit  debases  our  very  being,  and  makes 
our  passions  take  a new  turn  from  their  natural 
bent. 

It  was  a cause  of  great  sorrow  and  melan- 
choly to  me  some  nights  ago  at  a play,  to  see  a 
crowd  in  the  habits  of  the  gentry  of  England, 
stupid  to  the  noblest  sentiments  we  have.  The 
circumstance  happened  in  the  scene  of  distress 
betwixt  Percy  and  Anna  Bullen.  One  of  the 
centinels,  who  stood  on  the  stage  to  prevent  the 
disorders  which  the  most  unmannerly  race  of 


32 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  20, 


young  men  that  ever  were  seen  in  any  age  fre- 
quently raise  in  public  assemblies,  upon  Percy’s 
beseeching  to  be  heard,  burst  into  tears ; upon 
which  the  greatest  part  of  the  audience  fell  into 
a loud  and  ignorant  laughter;  which  others, 
who  were  touched  with  the  liberal  compassion 
in  the  poor  fellow, could  hardly  suppress  by  their 
clapping.  But  the  man,  without  the  least  con- 
fusion or  shame  in  his  countenance  for  what  had 
happened,  wiped  away  the  tears  and  was  still 
intent  upon  the  play.  The  distress  still  rising, 
the  soldier  was  so  much  moved,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  turn  his  face  from  the  audience,  to 
their  no  small  merriment.  Percy  had  the  gal- 
lantry to  take  notice  of  his  honest  heart ; and, 
as  I am  told,  gave  him  a crown  to  help  him  in 
his  affliction.  It  is  certain  this  poor  fellow,  in 
his  humble  condition,  had  such  a lively  com- 
passion as  a soul  unwedded  to  the  world  ; were 
it  otherwise,  gay  lights  and  dresses,  with  appear- 
ances of  people  of  fashion  and  wealth,  to  which 
his  fortune  could  not  be  familiar,  would  have 
taken  up  all  his  attention  and  admiration. 

It  is  every  thing  that  is  praiseworthy,  as  well 
as  pure  religion  (according  to  a book  too  sacred 
to  me  to  quote,)  ‘ to  visit  the  fatherless  and  wi- 
dows in  their  affliction,  and  to  keep  himself  un- 
spotted from  the  world.’  Every  step  that  a man 
makes  beyond  moderate  and  reasonable  provi- 
sion, is  taking  so  much  from  the  worthiness  of 
his  own  spirit ; and  he  that  is  entirely  set  upon 
making  a fortune,  is  all  that  while  undoing  the 
man.  He  must  grow  deaf  to  the  wretched, 
estrange  himself  from  the  agreeable,  learn 
hardness  of  heart,  disrelish  every  thing  that 
is  noble,  and  terminate  all  in  his  despicable  self. 
Indulgence  in  any  one  immoderate  desire  or 
appetite  engrosses  the  whole  creature,  and  his 
life  is  sacrificed  to  that  one  desire  or  appetite ; 
but  how  much  otherwise  is  it  with  those  that 
preserve  alive  in  them  something  that  adorns 
their  condition,  and  shows  the  man,  whether  a 
prince  or  a beggar,  above  his  fortune  ! 

I have  just  now  recorded  a foot-soldier,  for 
the  politest  man  in  a British  audience,  from 
the  force  of  nature,  untainted  with  the  singu- 
larity of  an  ill-applied  education.  A good  spirit 
that  is  not  abused,  can  add  new  glories  to  the 
highest  state  in  tlie  world,  as  well  as  give  beau- 
ties to  the  meanest.  I shall  exemplify  this  by 
inserting  a prayer  of  Harry  the  Fourth  of 
France  just  before  a battle,  in  which  he  obtained 
an  entire  victory. 

‘ O Lord  of  hosts,  who  canst  see  through  the 
thickest  veil  and  closest  disguise,  who  viewest 
the  bottom  of  my  heart,  and  the  deepest  designs 
of  my  enemies,  who  hast  in  thy  hands,  as  well 
as  before  thine  eyes,  all  the  events  which  con- 
cern  human  life  ; if  thou  knowestthat  my  reign 
wilt  promote  thy  glory  and  the  safety  of  thy 
people ; if  thou  knowest  that  I have  no  other 
ambition  in  my  soul,  but  to  advance  the  honour 
of  thy  holy  name,  and  the  good  of  this  state  ; fa- 
vour, O great  God,  the  justice  of  my  arms,  and 
reduce  all  the  rebels  to  acknowledge  him'  whom 
thy  sacred  decrees,  and  the  order  of  a lawful 
succession,  have  made  their  sovereign  : but,  if 
thy  good  providence  has  ordered  it  otherwise, 
and  thou  seest  that  I should  prove  one  of  those 
Lings  whom  thou  givest  in  thine  anger,  take 


from  me,  O merciful  God,  my  life  and  my  crown, 
make  me  this  day  a sacrifice  to  thy  will,  let  my 
death  end  the  calamities  of  France,  and  let  my 
blood  be  the  last  that  is  spilt  in  this  quarrel.’ 

The  king  uttered  this  generous  prayer  in  a 
voice,  and  with  a countenance,  that  inspired  all 
who  heard  and  beheld  him  with  like  magnani- 
mity : then  turning  to  the  squadron,  at  the 
head  of  which  he  designed  to  charge,  ‘ My  fel- 
low-soldiers,’ said  he,  ‘ as  you  run  my  fortune, 
so  do  I yours ; your  safety  consists  in  keeping  i 
well  your  ranks ; but  if  the  heat  of  the  action 
should  force  you  to  disorder,  think  of  nothing 
but  rallying  again  ; if  you  lose  the  sight  of 
your  colours  and  standards,  look  round  for  the 
white  plume  in  my  beaver ; you  shall  see  it  [ 

wherever  you  are,  and  it  shall  lead  you  to  glory  \ 

and  to  victory,’ 

The  magnanimity  of  this  illustrious  prince  \ 
was  supported  by  a firm  reliance  on  Providence,  | 
which  inspired  him  with  a contempt  of  life,  and  ( 
an  assurance  of  conquest.  His  generous  scorn  1 

of  royalty,  but  as  it  consisted  with  the  service  i 

of  God,  and  good  of  his  people,  is  an  instance,  i 

that  the  mind  of  man,  when  it  is  well  disposed,  ) 

is  always  above  its  condition,  even  though  it  i 

be  that  of  a monarch.  i 


No.  20.]  Friday^  April  3,  1713. 

Minuti 

Semper  et  infirmi  est  animi  exiguique  voluptas 
Ullio Juv.  Sat.  xiii.  189. 

Revenge,  which  still  we  find 

The  weakest  frailty  of  a feeble  mind.  Creech. 

All  gallantry  and  fashion,  one  would  ima- 
gine, should  rise  out  of  the  i^ligion  and  laws 
of  that  nation  wherein  they  prevail ; but,  alas  I 
in  this  kingdom,  gay  characters,  and  those 
which  lead  in  the  pleasure  and  inclinations  of 
the  fashionable  world,  are  such  as  are  readiest 
to  practise  crimes  the  most  abhorrent  to  nature, 
and  contradictory  to  our  faith.  A Christian 
and  a gentleman  are  made  inconsistent  appel- 
lations of  the  same  person ; you  are  not  to  ex- 
pect eternal  life,  if  you  do  not  forgive  injuries  * 
and  your  mortal  life  is  uncomfortable  if  you  are 
not  ready  to  commit  a murder  in  resentment 
for  an  affront : for  good  sense  as  well  as  religion 
is  so  utterly  banished  the  world,  that  men  glory 
in  their  very  passions,  and  pursue  triffes  with 
the  utmost  vengeance  ; so  little  do  they  know 
that  to  forgive  is  the  most  arduous  pitch  human 
nature  can  arrive  at.  A coward  has  often 
fought,  a coward  has  often  conquered,  but  ‘ a 
coward  never  forgave.’  The  power  of  doing 
that  ffows  from  a strength  of  soul  conscious  of 
its  own  force ; whence  it  draws  a certain  safety 
which  its  enemy  is  not  of  consideration  enough 
to  interrupt ; for  it  is  peculiar  in  the  make  of  a 
brave  man  to  have  his  friends  seem  much  above 
him,  his  enemies  much  below  him. 

Yet  though  the  neglect  of  our  enemies  may, 
so  intense  a forgiveness  as  the  love  of  them  is 
not  to  be  in  the  least  accounted  for  by  the  force 
of  constitution,  but  is  a more  spiritual  and 
refined  moral,  introduced  by  him  who  died  for 


No.  20.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


33 


those  that  persecuted  him ; yet  very  justly  de- 
livered to  us,  when  we  consider  ourselves  offend- 
ers, and  to  be  forgiven  on  the  reasonable  terms 
of  forgiving  ; for  who  can  ask  what  he  will  not 
bestow,  especially  when  that  gift  is  attended 
with  a redemption  from  the  cruelest  slavery  to 
the  most  acceptable  freedom  ? For  when  the 
mind  is  in  contemplation  of  revenge,  all  its 
thoughts  must  surely  be  tortured  with  the  alter- 
nate pangs  of  rancour,  envy,  hatred,  and  in- 
dignation ; and  they  who  profess  a sweet  in  the 
enjoyment  of  it,  certainly  never  felt  the  con- 
summate bliss  of  reconciliation.  At  such  an 
instant  the  false  ideas  we  received  unravel,  and 
the  shyness,  the  distrust,  the  secret  scorns,  and 
all  the  base  satisfactions  men  had  in  each  other’s 
faults  and  misfortunes,  are  dispelled,  and  their 
souls  appear  in  their  native  whiteness,  without 
the  least  streak  of  that  malice  or  distaste  which 
sullied  them : and  perhaps  those  very  actions, 
which,  when  we  looked  at  them  in  the  oblique 
glance  with  which  hatred  doth  always  see 
things,  were  horrid  and  odious  ; when  observed 
with  honest  and  open  eyes,  are  beauteous  and 
ornamental. 

But  if  men  are  averse  to  us  in  the  most  violent 
degree,  and  we  can  never  bring  them  to  an 
amicable  temper,  then  indeed  we  are  to  exert 
an  obstinate  opposition  to  them ; and  never  let 
the  malice  of  our  enemies  have  so  effectual  an 
advantage  over  us,  as  to  escape  our  good-will. 
For  the  neglected  and  despised  tenets  of  re- 
ligion are  so  generous,  and  in  so  transcendent 
and  heroic  a manner  disposed  for  public  good, 
that  it  is  not  in  a man’s  power  to  avoid  their 
influence  ; for  the  Christian  is  as  much  inclined 
to  your  service  when  your  enemy,  as  the  moral 
man  when  your  friend. 

But  the  followers  of  a crucified  Saviour  must 
root  out  of  their  hearts  all  sense  that  there  is 
any  thing  great  and  noble  in  pride  or  haughti- 
ness of  spirit;  yet  it  will  be  very  difficult  to  fix 
that  idea  in  our  souls,  except  we  can  think  as 
worthily  of  ourselves,  when  we  practise  the 
contrary  virtues.  We  must  learn,  and  be  con- 
vinced, that  there  is  something  sublime  and 
heroic  in  true  meekness  and  humility,  for  they 
arise  from  a great,  not  a groveling  idea  of 
things ; for  as  certainly  as  pride  proceeds  from 
a mean  and  narrow  view  of  the  little  advantages 
about  a man’s  self,  so  meekness  is  founded  on 
the  extended  contemplation  of  the  place  we  bear 
in  the  universe,  and  a just  observation  how  little, 
how  empty,  how  wavering,  are  our  deepest  re- 
solves and  counsels.  And  as,  to  a well  t-'’  ught 
mind,  when  you  have  said  a haughty  and  proud 
man,  you  have  spoke  a narrow  conception,  little 
spirit,  and  despicable  carriage  ; so  when  you 
have  said  a man  is  meek  and  humble,  you  have 
acquainted  us  that  such  a person  has  arrived  at 
the  hardest  task  in  the  world,  in  a universal  ob- 
servation round  him,  to  be  quick  to  see  his  own 
faults,  and  other  men’s  virtues,  and  at  the 
height  of  pardoning  every  man  soomer  than  him- 
self; you  have  also  given  us  to  understand,  that 
to  treat  him  kindly,  sincerely,  and  respectfully 
is  but  a mere  justice  to  him  that  is  ready  to  do 
us  the  same  offices.  This  temper  of  soul  keeps 
us  always  awake  to  a just  sense  of  things, 
teaches  us  that  we  are  as  well  akin  to  worms 
E 


as  to  angels ; and  as  nothing  is  above  these,  so 
is  nothing  below  those.  It  keeps  our  under- 
standing tight  about  us,  so  that  all  things  ap- 
pear to  us  great  or  little,  as  they  are  in  nature 
and  the  sight  of  heaven,  not  as  they  are  gilded 
or  sullied  by  accident  or  fortune. 

It  were  to  be  wished  that  all  men  of  sense 
would  think  it  worth  their  while  to  reflect  upon 
the  dignity  of  Christian  virtues  ; it  would  possi- 
bly enlarge  their  souls  into  such  a contempt  of 
what  fashion  and  prejudice  have  made  honour- 
able, that  their  duty,  inclination,  and  honour, 
vyould  tend  the  same  way,  and  make  all  their 
lives  a uniform  act  of  religion  and  virtue. 

As  to  the  great  catastrophe  of  this  day,  on 
which  the  Mediator  of  the  world  suffered  the 
greatest  indignities  and  death  itself  for  the  sal- 
vation of  mankind,  it  would  be  worth  gentle- 
men’s consideration,  whether  from  his  example 
it  would  not  be  proper  to  kill  all  inclinations  to 
revenge  ; and  examine  whether  it  would  not  be 
expedient  to  receive  new  notions  of  what  is  great 
and  honourable. 

This  is  necessary  against  the  day  wherein  he 
who  died  ignominiously  for  us  ‘ shall  descend 
from  heaven  to  be  our  judge,  in  majesty  and 
glory.’  How  will  the  man  who  shall  die  by  the 
sword  of  pride  and  wrath,  and  in  contention 
with  his  brother,  appear  before  him,  at  ‘ whose 
presence  nature  shall  be  in  an  agony,  and  the 
great  and  glorious  bodies  of  light  be  obscured  ; 
when  the  sun  shall  be  darkened,  the  moon 
turned  into  blood,  and  all  the  powers  of  heaven 
shaken ; when  the  heavens  themselves  shall 
pass  away  with  a great  noise,  and  the  elements 
dissolve  with  fervent  heat ; when  the  earth  also, 
and  all  the  works  that  are  therein,  shall  be  burnt 
up  !’ 

What  may  justly  damp  in  our  minds  the  dia- 
bolical madness,  which  prompts  us  to  decide  our 
petty  animosities  by  the  hazard  of  eternity,  is, 
that  in  that  one  act,  the  criminal  does  not  only 
highly  offend,  but  forces  himself  into  the  pre- 
sence of  his  judge  ; that  is  certainly  his  case 
who  dies  in  a duel.  I cannot  but  repeat  it,  he 
that  dies  in  a duel  knowingly  offends  God,  and 
in  that  very  action  rushes  into  his  offended  pre- 
sence. Is  it  possible  for  the  heart  of  man  to 
conceive  a more  terrible  image  than  that  of  a 
departed  spirit  in  this  condition  ? Could  we  but 
suppose  it  has  just  left  its  body,  and  struck  with 
the  terrible  reflection,  that  to  avoid  the  laughter 
of  fools,  and  being  the  by-word  of  idiots,  it  has 
now  precipitated  itself  into  the  din  of  demons, 
and  the  bowlings  of  eternal  despair,  how  will- 
ingly now  would  it  suffer  the  imputation  of  fear 
and  cowardice,  to  have  one  moment  left  not  to 
tremble  in  vain  1 

The  scriptures  are  full  of  pathetical  and  warm 
pictures  of  the  condition  of  a happy  or  miserable 
futurity ; and  I am  confident,  that  the  frequent 
reading  of  them  would  make  the  way  to  a 
happy  eternity  so  agreeable  and  pleasant,  that 
he  who  tries  it  will  find  the  difficulties,  which 
he  before  suffered  in  shunning  the  allurements 
of  vice,  absorbed  in  the  pleasure  he  will  take  in 
the  pursuit  of  virtue  : and  how  happy  must  that 
mortal  be,  who  thinks  himself  in  the  favour  of 
an  Almighty,  and  can  think  of  death  as  a thing 
which  it  is  an  infirmity  not  to  desire  ? 


34 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  21. 


No.  21.]  Saturday,  April  4,  1713. 

Fungar inani 

Munere Virg.  A:n.  v.  885. 

An  empty  office  I’ll  discharge. 

Doctor  Tillotson,  in  his  discourse  concern- 
ing the  danger  of  all  known  sin,  both  from  the 
light  of  nature  and  revelation,  after  having 
given  us  the  description  of  the  last  day  out  of 
holy  writ,  has  this  remarkable  passage  : 

‘ I appeal  to  any  man,  whether  this  be  not  a 
representation  of  things  very  proper  and  suitable 
to  that  great  day,  wlierein  he  who  made  the 
world  shall  come  to  judge  it?  And  whether  the 
wit  of  man  ever  devised  any  thing  so  awful,  and 
so  agreeable  to  the  majesty  of  God,  and  the  so- 
lemn judgment  of  the  whole  world  ? The  de- 
scription which  Virgil  makes  of  the  Elysian 
Fields,  and  the  Infernal  Regions,  how  infinitely 
do  they  fall  short  of  the  majesty  of  the  holy 
scripture,  and  the  description  there  made  of  hea- 
ven and  hell,  and  of  the  great  and  terrible  day 
of  the  Lord  ! so  that  in  comparison  they  are 
childish  and  trifling;  and  yet  perhaps  he  had  j 
the  most  regular  and  most  governed  imagina- 
tion of  any  man  that  ever  lived,  and  observed 
the  greatest  decorum  in  his  characters  and  de- 
scriptions. But  who  can  declare  the  great  things 
of  God,  but  he  to  whom  God  shall  reveal  them?’  I 

This  observation  was  worthy  a most  polite  { 
man,  and  ought  to  be  of  authority  with  all  who  1 
are  such,  so  far  as  to  examine  whether  he  spoke  | 
that  as  a man  of  a just  taste  and  judgment,  or  j 
advanced  it  merely  for  the  service  of  his  doctrine 
as  a clergyman.  : 

I am  very  confident  whoever  reads  the  gos-  j 
pels,  with  a heart  as  much  prepared  in  favour 
of  them  as  when  he  sits  down  to  Virgil  or  Ho- 
mer, will  find  no  passage  there  which  is  not  told 
with  more  natural  force  than  any  episode  in 
either  of  those  wits,  which  were  the  chief  of 
mere  mankind. 

The  last  thing  I read  was  the  twenty-fourth 
chapter  of  St.  Luke,  which  gives  an  account  of 
the  manner  in  which  our  blessed  Saviour,  after 
his  resurrection,  joined  with  two  disciples  on 
the  way  to  Emmaus  as  an  ordinary  traveller, 
and  took  the  privilege  as  such  to  inquire  of  them, 
what  occasioned  a sadness  he  observed  in  tbeir 
countenances  ; or  whether  it  was  from  any  pub- 
lic cause  ? Their  wonder  that  any  man  so  near 
Jerusalem  should  be  a stranger  to  what  had 
passed  there  ; their  acknowledgment  to  one  they 
met  accidentally,  that  they  had  believed  in  this 
prophet ; and  that  now,  tlie  third  day  after  his 
death,  they  were  in  doubt  as  to  their  pleasing 
hope,  which  occasioned  the  heaviness  he  took 
notice  of ; are  all  represented  in  a style  which 
men  of  letters  call  ‘ the  great  and  noble  simpli- 
city.’ The  attention  of  the  disciples  when  he 
expounded  the  scriptures  concerning  himself, 
his  offering  to  take  his  leave  of  them,  their  fond- 
ness of  his  stay,  and  the  manifestation  of  the 
great  guest  whom  they  had  entertained  while 
he  was  yet  at  meat  with  them,  are  all  incidents 
which  wonderfully  please  the  imagination  of  a 
Christian  reader  ; and  give  to  him  something  of 
that  touch  of  mind  which  the  brethren  felt,  when 
4iey  said  one  to  another,  ‘ Did  not  our  hearts 


burn  within  us,  while  he  talked  with  us  by  the 
way,  and  while  he  opened  to  us  the  scriptures?’ 

1 am  very  far  from  pretending  to  treat  these 
matters  as  they  deserve ; but  I hope  those  gen- 
tlemen  who  are  qualified  for  it,  and  called  to  it, 
will  forgive  me,  and  consider  that  I speak  as  a 
mere  secular  man,  impartially  considering  the 
effect  which  the  sacred  writings  will  have  upon 
the  soul  of  an  intelligent  reader ; and  it  is  some 
argument,  that  a thing  is  the  immediate  work 
of  God,  when  it  so  infinitely  transcends  all  the 
labours  of  man.  When  I look  upon  Raphael’s 
picture  of  our  Saviour  appearing  to  his  disciples 
after  his  resurrection,  I cannot  but  think  the 
just  disposition  of  that  piece  has  in  it  the  force 
of  many  volumes  on  the  subject.  The  evange- 
lists are  easily  distinguished  from  the  rest  by  a 
passionate  zeal  and  love  which  the  painter  has 
thrown  in  their  faces ; the  huddled  group  of 
those  who  stand  most  distant  are  admirable  re- 
presentations of  men  abashed  with  their  late 
unbelief  and  hardness  of  heart.  And  such  en- 
deavours  as  this  of  Raphael,  and  of  all  men  not 
called  to  the  altar,  are  collateral  helps  not  to  be 
despised  by  the  ministers  of  the  gospel. 

It  is  with  this  view  that  I presume  upon  sub- 
jects of  this  kind  ; and  men  may  take  up  this 
paper,  and  be  catched  by  an  admonition  under 
the  disguise  of  a diversion. 

All  the  arts  and  sciences  ought  to  be  employ- 
ed in  one  confederacy  against  the  prevailing 
torrent  of  vice  and  impiety  ; and  it  will  be  no 
small  step  in  the  progress  of  religion,  if  it  is  as 
evident  as  it  ought  to  be,  that  he  wants  the  best 
taste  and  best  sense  a man  can  have,  who  is  cold 
I to  the  ‘ beauty  of  holiness.’ 

1 As  for  my  part,  when  I have  happened  to  at- 
tend the  corpse  of  a friend  to  his  interment,  and 
have  seen  a graceful  man  at  the  entrance  of  a 
, church-yard,  who  became  the  dignity  of  his 
; function,  and  assumed  an  authority  which  ia 
! natural  to  truth,  pronounce  ‘ I am  the  resurrec.  : 
; tion  and  the  life ; he  that  believeth  in  me,  i 
I though  he  were  dead  yet  shall  he  live  ; and  I 
I w’hosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  ^ 
I die :’  I say,  upon  such  an  occasion,  the  retro-  ' 
; spect  upon  past  actions  between  the  deceased 
whom  I followed  and  myself,  together  w’ith  the 
! many  little  circumstances  that  strike  upon  the 
! soul,  and  alternately  give  grief  and  consolation, 
have  vanished  like  a dream  ; and  I have  been 
relieved  as  by  a voice  from  heaven,  when  the 
solemnity  has  proceeded,  and  after  a long  pause 
I again  heard  the  servant  of  God  utter,  ‘ I know 
that  my  Redeemer  liveth,  and  that  he  shall 
stand  at  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth  ; and 
though  worms  destroy  this  body,  yet  in  my 
flesh  shall  I see  God ; whom  I shall  see  for 
myself,  and  my  eyes  shall  behold,  and  not  an- 
other.’ How  have  I been  raised  above  this 
world  and  all  its  regards,  and  how^  well  prepared 
to  receive  the  next  sentence  which  the  holy 
man  has  spoken  ! ‘ We  brought  nothing  into 

this  world,  and  it  is  certain  we  can  carry  no- 
thing out;  the  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away,  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord  !’ 
There  are,  I know,  men  of  heavy  temper 
without  genius,  who  can  read  these  expressions 
of  scripture  with  as  much  indifference  as  they 
do  the  rest  of  these  loose  papers.  However,  I 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


35 


No.  22.] 

will  not  despair  but  to  bring  men  of  wit  into  a 
love  and  admiration  of  sacred  writings ; and,  as 
old  as  I am,  I promise  myself  to  see  the  day 
when  it  shall  be  as  much  in  fashion  among  men 
of  politeness  to  admire  a rapture  of  Saint  Paul, 
as  any  fine  expression  in  Virgil  or  Horace  ; and 
to  see  a well-dressed  young  man  produce  an 
evangelist  out  of  his  pocket,  and  be  no  more  out 
of  countenance  than  if  it  were  a classic  printed 
by  Elzevir. 

It  is  a gratitude  that  ought  to  be  paid  to  Pro- 
vidence by  men  of  distinguished  faculties,  to 
praise  and  adore  the  author  of  their  being  with 
a spirit  suitable  to  those  faculties,  and  rouse 
slower  men  by  their  words,  actions,  and  writings, 
to  a participation  of  their  transports  and  thanks- 
givings. 


No.  22.]  Monday,  April  6,  1713. 

Rura  mihi  etrigui  placsant  in  vallibus  amnes, 

Flumina  ainem  sylvasque  inglorius 

Virg.  Georg,  ii.  485. 

My  next  desire  is,  void  of  care  and  strife, 

'To  lead  a soft,  secure,  inglorious  life, 

A country  cottage  near  a crystal  flood, 

A winding  valley,  and  a lofty  wood.  Drydcn. 

Pastorai.  poetry  not  only  amuses  the  fancy 
the  most  delightfully,  but  is  likewise  more  in- 
debted  to  it  than  any  other  sort  whatsoever.  It 
transports  us  into  a kind  of  fairy-land,  where 
our  ears  are  soothed  with  the  melody  of  birds, 
bleating  flocks,  and  purling  streams  ; our  eyes 
inchanted  with  flowery  meadows  and  springing 
greens ; we  are  laid  under  cool  shades,  and  en- 
tertained with  all  the  sweets  and  freshness  of 
nature.  It  is  a dream,  it  is  a vision,  which  we 
wish  may  be  real,  and  we  believe  that  it  is  true. 

Mrs.  Cornelia  Lizard’s  head  was  so  far  turned 
with  these  imaginations,  when  we  were  last  in 
the  country,  that  she  lost  her  rest  by  listening 
to  nightingales ; she  kept  a pair  of  turtles  coo- 
ing in  her  chamber,  and  had  a tame  lamb  run- 
ning after  her  up  and  down  the  house.  I used 
all  gentle  methods  to  bring  her  to  herself ; as 
having  had  a design  heretofore  of  turning  shep- 
herd myself,  when  I read  Virgil  or  Theocritus 
at  Oxford.  But  as  my  age  and  experience  have 
armed  me  against  any  temptation  to  the  pastoral 
life,  I can  now  with  the  greater  safety  consider 
it;  and  shall  lay  down  such  rules,  as  those  of 
my  readers,  who  have  the  aforesaid  design, 
ought  to  observe,  if  they  would  follow  the  steps 
of  the  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  of  ancient 
times. 

In  order  to  form  a right  judgment  of  pastoral 
poetry,  it  will  be  necessary  to  cast  back  our 
eyes  on  the  first  ages  of  the  world.  For  since 
that  way  of  life  is  not  now  in  being,  we  must 
inquire  into  the  manner  of  it  when  it  actually 
did  exist.  Before  mankind  was  formed  into 
large  societies,  or  cities  were  built,  and  com- 
merce established,  the  wealth  of  the  world  con- 
sisted chiefly  in  flocks  and  herds.  The  tending 
of  these,  we  find  to  have  been  the  employment 
of  the  first  princes,  whose  subjects  were  sheep 
and  oxen,  and  their  dominions  the  adjoining 
vales.  As  they  lived  in  great  affluence  and  ease, 
we  may  presume  that  they  enjoyed  such  plea- 


sures as  that  condition  afforded,  free  and  unin- 
terrupted.  Their  manner  of  life  gave  them  vi- 
gour of  body  and  serenity  of  mind.  The  abund- 
ance they  were  possessed  of  secured  them  from 
avarice,  ambition,  or  envy  ; they  could  scarce 
have  any  anxieties  or  contentions,  where  every 
one  had  more  than  he  could  tell  what  to  do  with. 
Love  indeed  might  occasion  some  rivalships 
amongst  them,  because  many  lovers  fix  upon 
one  object,  for  the  loss  of  which  they  will  be  sa- 
tisfied with  no  compensation.  Otherwise  it  was 
a state  of  case,  innocence,  and  contentment; 
where  plenty  begot  pleasure,  and  pleasure  begot 
singing,  and  singing  begot  poetry,  and  poetry 
begot  pleasure  again. 

Thus  happy  was  the  first  race  of  men,  but 
rude  withal,  and  uncultivated.  For  before  they 
could  make  any  considerable  progress  in  arts 
and  sciences,  the  tranquillity  of  the  rural  life 
was  destroyed  by  turbulent  and  ambitious  spi- 
rits ; who,  having  built  cities,  raised  armies,  and 
studied  policies  of  state,  made  vassals  of  the 
defenceless  shepherds,  and  rendered  that  which 
was  before  easy  and  unrestrained,  a mean,  la- 
borious, miserable  condition.  Hence,  if  we  con- 
sider the  pastoral  period  before  learning,  we 
shall  find  it  unpolished,  if  after,  we  shall  find  it 
unpleasant. 

The  use  that  I would  make  of  this  short  re- 
view of  the  country  life  shall  be  this : An  au- 

thor that  would  amuse  himself  by  writing  pas- 
torals, should  form  in  his  fancy  a rural  scene  of 
perfect  ease  and  tranquillity,  where  innocence, 
simplicity,  and  joy  abound.  It  is  not  enough 
that  he  writes  about  the  country  ; he  must  give 
us  what  is  agreeable  in  that  scene,  and  hide 
what  is  wretched.  It  is,  indeed,  commonly  af- 
firmed,  that  truth  well  painted  will  certainly 
please  the  imagination  ; but  it  is  sometimes  con- 
venient not  to  discover  the  whole  truth,  but  that 
part  which  only  is  delightful.  We  must  some- 
times show  only  half  an  image  to  the  fancy ; 
which  if  we  display  in  a lively  manner,  the 
mind  is  so  dexterously  deluded,  that  it  doth  not 
readily  perceive  that  the  other  half  is  concealed. 
Thus  in  writing  pastorals,  let  the  tranquillity  of 
that  life  appear  full  and  plain,  but  hide  the 
meanness  of  it ; represent  its  simplicity  as  clear 
as  you  please,  but  cover  its  misery.  I would 
not  hereby  be  so  understood,  as  if  I thought  no- 
thing that  is  irksome  or  unpleasant  should  have 
a place  in  these  writings ; I only  mean  that  this 
state  of  life  in  general  should  be  supposed  agree- 
able. But  as  there  is  no  condition  exempt  from 
anxiety,  I will  allow  shepherds  to  be  afflicted 
with  such  misfortunes  as  the  loss  of  a favourite 
lamb,  or  a faithless  mistress.  He  may,  if  you 
please,  pick  a thorn  out  of  his  foot ; or  vent  his 
grief  for  losing  the  prize  in  dancing  ; but  these 
being  small  torments,  they  recommend  that 
state  which  only  produces  such  trifling  evils. 
Again,  I would  not  seem  so  strict  in  my  notions 
of  innocence  and  simplicity,  as  fo  deny  the  use 
of  a little  railing,  or  the  liberty  of  stealing  a kid 
or  a sheep-hook.  For  these  are  likewise  such 
petty  enormities,  that  we  must  think  the  coun- 
try happy  where  these  are  the  greatest  trans- 
gressions. 

When  a reader  is  placed  in  such  a scene  as  1 
have  described,  and  introduced  into  such  com 


36 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  23. 


pany  as  I have  chosen,  he  gives  himself  up  to 
the  pleasing  delusion ; and  since  every  one  doth 
not  know  how  it  comes  to  pass,  I will  venture 
to  tell  him  why  he  is  pleased. 

The  first  reason  is,  because  all  mankind  love 
ease.  Though  ambition  and  avarice  employ 
most  men’s  thoughts,  they  are  such  uneasy  ha- 
bits, that  we  do  not  indulge  them  out  of  choice, 
but  from  some  necessity,  real  or  imaginary.  VVn 
seek  happiness,  in  which  ease  is  the  principal 
ingredient,  and  the  end  proposed  in  our  most 
restless  pursuits  is  tranquillity.  We  are  there- 
fore soothed  and  delighted  with  the  representa- 
tion of  it,  and  fancy  we  partake  of  the  j)leasure. 

A second  reason  is  our  secret  approbation  of 
innocence  and  simplicity.  Human  nature  is 
not  so  much  depraved,  as  to  hinder  us  from  re- 
specting  goodness  in  others,  though  we  ourselves 
want  it.  This  is  the  reason  why  we  are  so  much 
charmed  with  the  pretty  prattle  of  children,  and 
even  the  expressions  of  pleasure  or  uneasiness 
in  some  part  of  the  brute  creation.  They  are 
without  artifice  or  malice  ; and  we  love  truth 
too  well  to  resist  the  charms  of  sincerity, 

A third  reason  is  our  love  of  the  country. 
Health,  tranquillity,  and  pleasing  objects  are 
the  grov.7th  of  the  country  ; and  though  men, 
for  the  general  good  of  the  world,  are  made  to 
love  populous  cities,  the  country  hath  the  great- 
est share  in  an  uncorrupted  heart.  When  we 
paint,  describe,  or  any  way  indulge  our  fancy, 
the  country  is  the  scene  which  supplies  us  with 
the  most  lovely  images.  This  state  was  that 
wherein  God  placed  Adam  when  in  Paradise  ; 
nor  could  all  the  fanciful  wits  of  antiquity 
imagine  any  thing  that  could  administer  more 
exquisite  delight  in  their  Elysium. 


No.  23.]  Tuesday,  Apnl  7,  1713. 

Extrema  per  illos 

Justicia  excedens  terris  vestigia  fecit. 

Firg.  Georg,  ii.  473. 

From  hence  Astrea  took  her  flight,  and  here 
The  prints  of  her  departing  steps  appear. 

Dryden. 

Having  already  conveyed  my  reader  into  the 
fairy  or  pastoral  land,  and  informed  him  what 
manner  of  life  the  inhabitants  of  that  region 
lead  ; I shall,  in  this  day’s  paper,  give  him  some 
marks  whereby  he  may  discover  whether  he  is 
imposed  upon  by  those  who  pretend  to  be  of 
that  country ; or,  in  other  words,  what  are  the 
characteristics  of  a true  Arcadian. 

From  the  foregoing  account  of  the  pastoral 
life,  we  may  discover  that  simplicity  is  neces- 
sary in  the  character  of  shepherds.  Their 
minds  must  be  supposed  so  rude  and  unculti- 
vated, that  nothing  but  what  is  plain  and  unaf- 
fected can  come  from  them.  Nevertheless,  we 
are  not  obliged  to  represent  them  dull  and  stupid, 
since  fine  spirits  were  undoubtedly  in  the  world 
before  arts  were  invented  to  polish  and  adorn 
them.  We  may  therefore  introduce  shepherds 
with  good  sense,  and  even  with  wit,  provided 
their  manner  of  thinking  be  not  too  gallant  or 
refined.  For  all  men,  both  rude  and  polite,  think 
and  conceive  things  the  same  way,  (truth  being 
lernally  the  same  to  all)  though  they  express 


them  very  differently.  For  here  lies  the  differ- 
ence. Men,  who,  by  long  study  and  experience 
have  reduced  their  ideas  to  certain  classes,  and 
consider  the  general  nature  of  things  abstracted 
from  particulars,  express  their  thoughts  after  a 
more  concise,  lively,  surprising  mariner.  Those 
who  have  little  experience,  or  cannot  abstract, 
deliver  their  sentiments  in  plain  description.^, 
by  circumstances,  and  those  observations  which 
either  strike  upon  the  senses,  or  are  the  first 
motions  of  the  mind.  And  though  the  former 
raises  our  admiration  more,  the  latter  gives 
more  pleasure,  and  soothes  us  more  naturally. 
Thus  a courtly  lover  may  say  to  his  mistress  : 

‘ Witli  thee  for  ever  1 in  woods  could  rest, 

Wheie  never  human  foot  the  ground  hath  prest; 

Thou  e’en  from  dungeons  darkness  canst  exclude, 

And  from  a desert  banish  solitude.’ 

A shepherd  will  content  himself  to  say  the 
same  thing  more  simply  ; 

‘ Come,  Rosalind,  oh  ! come,  for  without  thee 
What  pleasure  can  the  country  have  for  me  ?’ 

Again,  since  shepherds  are  not  allowed  to 
make  deep  reflections,  the  address  required  is 
so  to  relate  an  action,  that  the  circumstances 
put  together  shall  cause  the.  reader  to  reflect. 
Thus,  by  one  delicate  circumstance,  Corydon 
tells  Alexis  that  he  is  the  finest  songster  of  the 
country  : 

‘ Of  seven  smooth  joints  a mellow  pipe  I have. 

Which  with  his  dying  breath  Damcetas  gave  : 

And  said,  “ This,  Corydon,  I leave  to  thee. 

For  only  thou  deserv'st  it  after  me.’” 

As  in  another  pastoral  writer,  after  the  same  j 
manner  a shepherd  informs  us  how  much  his 
mistress  likes  him  : j 

‘ As  I to  cool  me  bath’d  one  sultry  day,  | 

Fond  Lydia  lurking  in  the  sedges  lay,  i 

The  wanton  laugh’d,  and  seemed  in'haste  to  fly,  I 

Yet  often  stopp'd,  and  often  turn’d  her  eye.’ 

If  ever  a reflection  be  pardonable  in  pastorals,  j 
it  is  where  the  thought  is  so  obvious,  that  it  ! 
seems  to  come  easily  to  the  mind ; as  in  the  | 
following  admirable  improvement  of  Virgil  and  | 
Theocritus : 

‘ Fair  is  my  flock,  nor  yet  uncomely  I,  | 

If  liquid  fountains  flatter  not.  And  why  i 

Should  liquid  fountains  flatter  us,  yet  show 
The  bordering  flowers  less  beauteous  than  they  grow?’  ! 

A second  characteristic  of  a true  shepherd  is  i 
simplicity  of  manners,  or  innocence.  This  is  I 
so  obvious  from  what  I have  before  advanced.  ) 
that  it  would  be  but  repetition  to  insist  long 
upon  it.  I shall  only  remind  the  reader,  that  as  I 
the  pastoral  life  is  supposed  to  be  where  nature 
is  not  much  depraved,  sincerity  and  truth  will  i 
generally  run  though  it.  Some  slight  trans-  i 
gressions  for  the  sake  of  variety  may  be  ad- 
mitted,  which  in  effect  will  only  serve  to  set  off  ! 
the  simplicity  of  it  in  general.  I cannot  bet-  ' 
ter  illustrate  this  rule  than  by  the  following 
example  of  a swain  who  found  his  mistress  i 
asleep : 

‘ Once  Delia  slept  on  easy  moss  reclin’d. 

Her  lovely  limbs  half  bare,  and  rude  the  wind; 

I smooth’d  her  coats,  and  stole  a silent  kiss  ; 

Condemn  me,  shepherds,  if  I did  amiss.’ 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


37 


No.  24.] 

A third  sign  of  a swain  is,  that  something  of 
religion,  and  even  superstition  is  part  of  his 
character.  For  we  find  that  those  who  have 
lived  easy  lives  in  the  country,  and  contemplate 
the  works  of  nature,  live  in  the  greatest  awe  of 
their  Author.  Nor  doth  this  humour  prevail 
less  now  than  of  old.  Our  peasants  as  sincerely 
believe  the  tales  of  goblins  and  fairies,  as  the 
heathens  those  of  fauns,  nymphs,  and  satyrs. 
Hence  we  find  the  works  of  Virgil  and  Theo- 
critus sprinkled  with  left-handed  ravens,  blasted 
oaks,  witchcrafts,  evil  eyes,  and  the  like.  And 
I observe  with  great  pleasure  that  our  English 
author  of  the  pastorals  I have  quoted  hath 
practised  this  secret  with  admirable  judgment. 

I will  yet  add  another  mark,  which  may  be 
observed  very  often  in  the  above-named  poets, 
which  is  agreeable  to  the  character  of  shep- 
herds, and  nearly  allied  to  superstition,  I mean 
the  use  of  proverbial  sayings.  I take  the  com- 
mon similitudes  in  pastoral  to  be  of  the  pro- 
verbial order,  which  are  so  frequent,  that  it  is 
needless,  and  would  be  tiresome  to  quote  them. 
I shall  only  take  notice  upon  this  head,  that  it 
is  a nice  piece  of  art  to  raise  a proverb  above 
the  vulgar  style,  and  still  keep  it  easy  and  un- 
affected. Thus  the  old  wish,  ‘ God  rest  his 
soul,’  is  finely  turned  : 

‘ Then  gentle  Sidney  liv’d,  the  shepherd’s  friend. 
Eternal  blessings  on  his  shade  attend !’ 


No.  24.]  Wednesday,  April  8,  1713. 

Dicenda  tacendaque  calles?  Pers.  Sat.  iv.  5. 

Dost  thou,  so  young. 

Know  when  to  speak,  and  when  to  hold  thy  tongue  ? 

Dryden. 

Jack  Lizard  was  about  fifteen  when  he  was 
first  entered  in  the  university,  and  being  a 
youth  of  a great  deal  of  fire,  and  a more  than 
ordinary  application  to  his  studies,  it  gave  his 
conversation  a very  particular  turn.  He  had 
too  much  spirit  to  hold  his  tongue  in  company  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  so  little  acquaintance  with 
the  world,  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  talk  like 
other  people. 

After  a year  and  a half’s  stay  at  the  univer- 
sity, he  came  down  among  us  to  pass  away  a 
month  or  two  in  the  country.  The  first  night 
after  his  arrival,  as  we  were  at  supper,  we  were 
all  of  us  very  much  improved  by  Jaek’s  table- 
talk.  He  told  us,  upon  the  appearance  of  a 
dish  of  wild  fowl,  that  aceording  to  the  opinion 
of  some  natural  philosophers  they  might  be 
lately  come  from  the  moon.  Upon  which  the 
Sparkler  bursting  out  into  a laugh,  he  insulted 
her  with  several  questions  relating  to  the  bigness 
and  distance  of  the  moon  and  stars  ; and  after 
every  interrogatory  would  be  winking  upon  me, 
and  smiling  at  his  sister’s  ignorance.  Jack 
gained  his  point ; for  the  mother  was  pleased, 
and  all  the  servants  stared  at  the  learning  of 
their  young  master.  Jack  was  so  encouraged 
at  this  success,  that  for  the  first  week  he  dealt 
wholly  in  paradoxes.  It  was  a common  jest 
with  him  to  pinch  one  of  his  sister’s  lap-dogs, 
and  afterwards  prove  he  could  not  feel  it.  When 
the  girls  were  sorting  a set  of  knots,  he  would 


demonstrate  to  them  that  all  the  ribandf  were 
of  the  flame  colour;  or  rather,  says  JacV,  of  no 
colour  at  all.  My  lady  Lizard  herself,  though 
she  was  not  a little  pleased  with  her  son’s  im- 
provements, was  one  day  almost  angry  with 
him  ; for  having  accidentally  burnt  her  fingers 
as  she  was  lighting  the  lamp  for  her  tea-pot,  in 
the  midst  of  her  anguish  Jack  laid  hold  of  the 
opportunity  to  instruct  her  that  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  heat  in  fire.  In  short,  no  day 
passed  over  our  heads,  in  which  Jack  did  not 
imagine  he  made  the  whole  family  wiser  than 
they  were  before. 

That  part  of  his  conversation  which  gave  me 
the  most  pain,  was  what  passed  among  those 
country  gentlemen  that  came  to  visit  us.  On 
such  occasions  Jack  usually  took  upon  him  to 
be  the  mouth  of  the  company ; and  thinking 
himself  obliged  to  be  very  merry,  would  enter- 
tain us  with  a great  many  old  sayings  and  ab- 
surdities of  their  college-cook.  I found  this 
fellow  had  made  a very  strong  impression  upon 
Jaek’s  imagination  ; which  he  never  considered 
was  not  the  case  of  the  rest  of  the  company, 
till  after  many  repeated  trials  he  found  that  his 
stories  seldom  made  any  body  laugh  but  him- 
self. 

I all  this  while  looked  upon  Jack  as  a young 
tree  shooting  out  into  blossoms  before  its  time  ; 
the  redundaney  of  which,  though  it  was  a little 
unseasonable,  seemed  to  foretell  an  uncommon 
fruitfulness. 

In  order  to  wear  out  the  vein  of  pedantry 
which  ran  through  his  conversation,  I took  him 
out  with  me  one  evening,  and  first  of  all  insinu- 
ated to  him  this  rule,  which  I had  myself  learned 
from  a very  great  author,  ‘ To  think  with  the 
wise,  but  talk  with  the  vulgar.’  Jack’s  good 
sense  soon  made  him  reflect  that  he  had  exposed 
himself  to  the  laughter  of  the  ignorant  by  a 
contrary  behaviour;  upon  which  he  told  me, 
that  he  would  take  care  for  the  future  to  keep 
his  notions  to  himself,  and  converse  in  the  com- 
mon received  sentiments  of  mankind.  He  at 
the  same  time  desired  me  to  give  him  any  other 
rules  of  conversation  which  I thought  might  be 
for  his  improvement.  I told  him  I would  think 
of  it ; and  accordingly,  as  I have  a particular 
affection  for  the  young  man,  I gave  him  the 
next  morning  the  following  rules  in  writing, 
which  may  perhaps  have  contributed  to  make 
him  the  agreeable  man  he  now  is. 

The  faculty  of  interchanging  our  thoughts 
with  one  another,  or  what  we  express  by  the 
word  conversation,  has  always  been  represented 
by  moral  writers  as  one  of  the  noblest  privi- 
leges of  reason,  and  which  more  particularly 
sets  mankind  above  the  brute  part  of  the  creation. 

Though  nothing  so  much  gains  upon  the  af- 
fections as  this  extempore  eloquence,  which  we 
have  constantly  occasion  for,  and  are  obliged  to 
practise  every  day,  we  very  rarely  meet  with  any 
who  excel  in  it. 

The  conversation  of  most  men  is  disagreeable, 
not  so  much  for  want  of  wit  and  learning,  as  of 
good-breeding  and  discretion. 

If  you  resolve  to  please,  never  speak  to  gra- 
tify any  particular  vanity  or  passion  of  your 
own,  but  always  with  a design  either  to  divert 
or  inform  the  company.  A man  who  only  aims 
4 


38 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


at  one  of  these,  is  always  easy  in  his  discourse. 
He  is  never  out  of  humour  at  being  interrupted, 
because  he  considers  that  those  who  hear  him 
are  the  best  judges  whether  what  he  was  saying 
could  either  divert  or  inform  them. 

A modest  person  seldom  fails  to  gain  the  good- 
will of  those  he  converses  with,  because  nobody 
envies  a man  who  does  not  appear  to  be  pleased 
with  himself. 

We  should  talk  extremely  little  of  ourselves. 
Indeed  what  can  we  say  ? It  would  be  as  im- 
prudent to  discover  our  faults,  as  ridiculous  to 
count  over  our  fancied  virtues.  Our  private 
and  domestic  affairs  are  no  less  improper  to  be 
introduced  in  conversation.  What  does  it  con- 
cern the  company  how  many  horses  you  keep 
in  your  stables  ? or  whether  your  servant  is  most 
knave  or  fool  ? 

A man  may  equally  affront  the  company  he 
is  in,  by  engrossing  all  the  talk,  or  observing  a 
contemptuous  silence. 

Before  you  tell  a story,  it  may  be  generally 
not  amiss  to  draw  a short  character,  and  give 
the  company  a true  idea  of  the  principal  per- 
sons concerned  in  it.  The  beauty  of  most  things 
consisting  not  so  much  in  their  being  said  or 
done,  as  in  their  being  said  or  done  by  such  a 
particular  person,  or  on  such  a particular  occa- 
sion. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  advantages  of  youth, 
few  young  people  please  in  conversation  : the 
reason  is,  that  want  of  experience  makes  them 
positive,  and  what  they  say  is  rather  with  a de- 
sign to  please  themselves  than  any  one  else. 

It  is  certain  that  age  itself  shall  make  many 
things  pass  well  enough,  which  would  have 
been  laughed  at  in  the  mouth  of  one  much 
younger. 

Nothing,  however,  is  more  insupportable  to 
men  of  sense,  than  an  empty  formal  man  who 
speaks  in  proverbs,  and  decides  all  controversies 
with  a short  sentence.  This  piece  of  stupidity 
is  the  more  insufferable,  as  it  puts  on  the  air  of  | 
wisdom. 

A prudent  man  will  avoid  talking  much  of 
any  particular  science,  for  which  he  is  remark- 
ably famous.  There  is  not,  methinks,  a hand- 
somer thing  said  of  Mr.  Cowley  in  his  whole  life, 
than,  that  none  but  his  intimate  friends  ever  dis- 
covered he  was  a great  poet  by  his  discourse  : 
besides  the  decency  of  this  rule,  it  is  certainly 
founded  in  good  policy.  A man  who  talks  of 
any  thing  he  is  already  famous  for,  has  little  to 
get,  but  a great  deal  to  lose.  I might  add,  that 
he  who  is  sometimes  silent  on  a subject  where 
every  one  is  satisfied  he  could  speak  well,  will 
often  be  thought  no  less  knowing  in  other  mat- 
ters, where  perhaps  he  is  wholly  ignorant. 

Women  are  frightened  at  the  name  of  argu- 
ment, and  are  sooner  convinced  by  a happy 
turn,  or  witty  expression,  than  by  demonstra- 
tion. 

Whenever  you  commend,  add  your  reasons 
for  doing  so ; it  is  this  which  distinguishes  the 
approbation  of  a man  of  sense  from  the  flattery 
of  sycophants,  and  admiration  of  fools. 

Raillery  is  no  longer  agreeable  than  while 
the  whole  company  is  pleased  with  it.  I would 
least  of  all  be  understood  to  except  the  person 
rallied. 


[No.  25. 

Though  good  humour,  sense,  and  discretion, 
can  seldom  fail  to  make  a man  agreeable,  it  may 
be  no  ill  policy  sometimes  to  prepare  yourself  in 
a particular  manner  for  conversation,  by  look- 
ing  a little  further  than  your  neighbours  into 
whatever  is  become  a reigning  subject.  If  our 
armies  are  besieging  a place  of  importance  ; 

abroad,  or  our  house  of  commons  debating  a bill  J 

of  consequence  at  home,  you  can  hardly  fail  of  | 

being  heard  with  pleasure,  if  you  have  nicely  ( 

informed  yourself  of  the  strength,  situation,  and  tj 

history  of  the  first,  or  of  the  reasons  for  and  li 

against  the  latter.  It  will  have  the  same  effect,  • 

if  when  any  single  person  begins  to  make  a 
noise  in  the  world,  you  can  learn  some  of  the 
smallest  accidents  in  his  life  or  conversation, 
which  though  they  are  too  fine  for  the  observa. 
tion  of  the  vulgar,  give  more  satisfaction  to  men  t 
of  sense  (as  they  are  the  best  openings  to  a real  b 
character)  than  the  recital  of  his  most  glaring 
actions.  I know  but  one  ill  consequence  to  be 
feared  from  this  method,  namely,  that  coming 
full  charged  into  company,  you  should  resolve 
to  unload  whether  a handsome  opportunity  offers  i 
itself  or  no. 

Though  the  asking  of  questions  may  plead  for 
itself  the  specious  names  of  modesty,  and  a de- 
sire of  information,  it  affords  little  pleasure  to 
the  rest  of  the  company  who  are  not  troubled 
with  the  same  doubts;  besides  which,  he  who 
asks  a question  wmuld  do  well  to  consider  that 
he  lies  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  another  before  he 
receives  an  answer. 

Nothing  is  more  silly  than  the  pleasure  some 
people  take  in  what  they  call  ‘ speaking  their 
minds.’  A man  of  this  make  w’ill  say  a rude 
thing  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  saying  it,  w'hen 
an  opposite  behaviour,  full  as  innocent,  might 
have  preserved  his  friend,  or  made  his  fortune. 

It  is  not  impossible  for  a man  to  form  to 
himself  as  exquisite  a pleasure  in  complying 
w'ith  tlie  humour  and  sentiments  of  others,  as 
of  bringing  others  over  to  his  own  ; since  it  is 
the  certain  sign  of  a superior  genius,  that  can 
take  and  become  whatever  dress  it  pleases. 

I shall  only  add,  that,  besides  what  I have 
here  said,  there  is  something  which  can  never 
be  learnt  but  in  the  company  of  the  polite.  The 
virtues  of  men  are  catching  as  well  as  their 
vices  ; and  your  own  observations  added  to  these 
will  soon  discover  what  it  is  that  commands 
attention  in  one  man,  and  makes  you  tired  and 
displeased  with  the  discourse  of  another. 


No.  25.]  Thursday^  April  9,  1713. 

Quis  tarn  Lucili  fautor  inepte  est,  • 

Ut  non  hoc  fateatur  ? Hor.  Lib.  1.  Sat.  x.  2.  1 

What  friend  of  his* 

So  blindly  partial,  to  deny  me  this  ? Creech.  | 

I 

The  prevailing  humour  of  crying  up  authors  i 
that  have  writ  in  the  days  of  our  forefathers,  and  i 
of  passing  slightly  over  the  merit  of  our  con-  t 
temporaries,  is  a grievance  that  men  of  a free  ! 
and  unprejudiced  thought  have  complained  of 
through  all  ages  in  their  writings. 


* Of  the  poet  Lucillius. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


39 


•Vo.  25.] 

I went  home  last  night  full  of  these  reflec- 
tions from  a coffee-house,  where  a great  many 
excellent  writings  were  arraigned,  and  as  many 
j very  indifferent  ones  applauded,  more  (as  it 
j seemed  to  me)  upon  the  account  of  their  date, 
j than  upon  any  intrinsic  value  or  demerit.  The 
I conversation  ended  with  great  encomiums  upon 
j my  lord  Verulam’s  History  of  Henry  the  Vllth. 
j The  company  were  unanimous  in  their  appro- 
bation of  it.  I was  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
traditional  vogue  of  that  book  throughout  the 
whole  nation,  to  venture  my  thoughts  upon  it. 

' Neither  would  I now  offer  my  judgment  upon 
that  work  to  the  public,  (so  great  a veneration 
( have  I for  the  memory  of  a man  whose  writings 
i are  the  glory  of  our  nation,)  but  that  the  autho- 
:|  rity  of  so  leading  a name  may  perpetuate  a 
^ vicious  taste  amongst  us,  and  betray  future  his- 
;|  torians  to  copy  after  a model  which  I cannot 
M help  thinking  far  from  complete, 
i As  to  the  fidelity  of  the  history,  I have  no- 
il thing  to  say  : to  examine  it  impartially  in 
i that  view  would  require  much  pains  and  leisure. 

I But  as  to  the  composition  of  it,  and  sometimes 
I the  choice  of  matter,  I am  apt  to  believe  it  will 
|i  appear  a little  faulty  to  an  unprejudiced  reader, 
i,  A complete  historian  should  be  endowed  with 
the  essential  qualifications  of  a great  poet.  His 
, style  must  be  majestic  and  grave,  as  well  as 
simple  and  unaffected ; his  narration  should  be 
animated,  short,  and  clear,  and  so  as  even  to 
outrun  the  impatience  of  the  reader,  if  possible. 
This  can  only  be  done  by  being  very  sparing 
and  choice  in  words,  by  retrenching  all  cold 
and  superfluous  circumstances  in  an  action,  and 
by  dwelling  upon  such  alone  as  are  material,  and 
fit  to  delight  or  instruct  a serious  mind.  This 
is  what  we  find  in  the  great  models  of  antiquity, 
and  in  a more  particular  manner,  in  Livy, 
whom  it  is  impossible  to  read  without  the  warm- 
est emotions. 

But  my  lord  Verulam,  on  the  contrary,  is 
ever  in  the  tedious  style  of  declaimers,  using 
two  words  for  one  ; ever  endeavouring  to  be 
witty,  and  as  fond  of  out-of-the-way  similies  as 
some  of  our  old  play-writers.  He  abounds  in 
low  phrases,  beneath  the  dignity  of  history,  and 
often  condescends  to  little  conceits  and  quibbles. 
His  political  reflections  are  frequently  false, 
almost  every  where  trivial  and  puerile.  His 
' whole  manner  of  turning  his  thoughts  is  full  of 
affectation  and  pedantry ; and  there  appears 
throughout  his  whole  work  more  the  air  of  a 
recluse  scholar,  than  of  a man  versed  in  the 
world. 

After  passing  so  free  a censure  upon  a book 
which,  for  these  hundred  years  and  upwards, 
has  met  with  the  most  universal  approbation,  I 
am  obliged  in  my  own  defence  to  transcribe 
some  of  the  many  passages  I formerly  collected 
for  the  use  of  my  first  charge,  sir  Marmaduke 
Lizard.  It  would  be  endless,  should  I point  out 
the  frequent  tautologies  and  circumlocutions 
that  occur  in  every  page,  which  do,  as  it  were, 
rarify,  instead  of  condensing  his  thoughts  and 
matter.  It  was,  in  all  probability,  his  applica- 
I tion  to  the  law  that  gave  him  a habit  of  being  so 

i wordy  ; of  which  I shall  put  down  two  or  three 

^ examples. 

‘That  all  records,  wherein  there  was  any 


memory  or  mention  of  the  king’s  attainder, 
should  be  defaced,  cancelled,  and  taken  off  the 
file. — Divers  secret  and  nimble  scouts  and  spies, 
&c.  to  learn,  search,  and  discover  all  the  cir- 
cumstances and  particulars. — To  assail,  sap,  and 
work  into  the  constancy  of  sir  Robert  Clifford.’ 

I leave  the  following  passages  to  every  one’s 
consideration,  without  making  any  farther  re- 
marks upon  them. 

‘ He  should  be  well  enough  able  to  scatter  the 
Irish  as  a flight  of  birds,  and  rattle  away  his 
swarm  of  bees  with  their  king. — The  rebels 
took  their  way  towards  York,  &c.  but  their 
snow-ball  did  not  gather  as  it  went. — So  that  (in 
a kind  of  mattacina*  of  human  fortune)  he 
turned  a broachf  that  had  worn  a crown ; 
whereas  fortune  commonly  doth  not  bring  in 
a comedy  or  farce  after  a tragedy. — The  queen 
was  crowned,  &,c.  about  two  years  after  the 
marriage,  like  an  old  christening  that  had 
stayed  long  for  god-fathers. — Desirous  to  trou- 
ble the  waters  in  Italy,  that  he  might  fish  the 
better,  casting  the  net  not  out  of  St.  Peter’s,  but 
out  of  Borgia’s  bark. — And  therefore  upon  the 
first  grain  of  incense  that  was  sacrificed  upon 
the  altar  of  peace  at  Bulloigne,  Perkin  was 
smoked  away. — This  was  the  end  of  this  little 
cockatrice  of  a king,  that  was  able  to  destroy 
those  that  did  not  espy  him  first. — It  was 
observed,  that  the  great  tempest,  which  drove 
Philip  into  England,  blew  down  the  Golden 
Eagle  from  the  spire  of  St.  Paul’s ; and  in  the 
fall,  it  fell  upon  a sign  of  the  Black  Eagle, 
which  was  in  Paul’s  church-yard,  in  the  place 
where  the  school-house  now  standeth,  and  bat- 
tered it,  and  broke  it  down  : which  was  a strange 
stooping  of  a hawk  upon  a fowl. — The  king 
began  to  find  where  his  shoe  did  wring  him. — 
In  whose  bosom  or  budget  most  of  Perkin’s  se- 
crets w^ere  laid  up. — One  might  know  afar  off* 
where  the  owl  was  by  the  flight  of  birds. — Bold 
men,  and  careless  of  fame,  and  that  took  toll  of 
their  master’s  grist. — Empson  and  Dudley 
would  have  cut  another  chop  out  of  him. — Peter 
Hialas,  some  call  him  Elias ; surely  he  was  the 
forerunner  of,  &c. — Lionel,  bishop  of  Concordia, 
was  sent  as  nuncio,  &c.  but  notwithstanding  he 
had  a good  ominous  name  to  have  made  a peace, 
nothing  followed. — Taxing  him  for  a great 
taxer  of  his  people. — Not  by  proclamations,  but 
by  court-fames,  which  commonly  print  better 
than  printed  proclamations. — Sir  Edw'ard  Poyn- 
ings  was  enforced  to  make  a wild  chase  upon 
the  wild  Irish. — In  sparing  of  blood  by  the 
bleeding  of  so  much  treasure. — And  although 
his  own  case  had  both  steel  and  parchment 
more  than  the  other ; that  is  to  say,  a conquest 
in  the  field,  and  an  act  of  parliament. — That 
pope  knowing  that  king  Henry  the  Sixth  W’as 
reputed  in  the  world  abroad  but  for  a simple 
man,  was  afraid  it  would  but  diminish  the  esti- 
mation of  that  kind  of  honour,  if  there  were  not 
distance  kept  between  innocents  and  saints.’ 

Not  to  trouble  my  reader  with  any  more  in- 
stances of  the  like  nature,  I mu.st  observe  that 
the  whole  work  is  ill  conducted,  and  the  story 
of  Perkin  Warbeck  (which  should  have  been 
only  like  an  episode  in  a poem)  is  spun  out  to 


* A frolicsome  dance. 


t A spi* 


40 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  26, 


near  a third  part  of  the  book.  The  character 
of  Henry  the  Seventh,  at  the  end,  is  rather  an 
abstract  of  his  history  than  a character.  It  is 
tedious,  and  diversified  with  so  many  particu- 
lars as  confound  the  resemblance,  and  make  it 
almost  impossible  for  the  reader  to  form  any 
distinct  idea  of  the  person.  It  is  not  thus  the 
ancients  drew  their  characters ; but  in  a few 
just  and  bold  strokes  gave  you  the  distinguish- 
ing features  of  the  mind,  (if  I may  be  allowed 
the  metaphor,)  in  so  distinct  a manner,  and  in 
so  strong  a light,  that  you  grew  intimate  with 
your  man  immediately,  and  knew  him  from  a 
hundred. 

After  all,  it  must  be  considered  in  favour  of 
my  lord  Verulam,  that  he  lived  in  an  age  where- 
in chaste  and  correct  writing  was  not  in  fashion, 
and  when  pedantry  was  the  mode  even  at  court; 
so  that  it  is  no  wonder  if  the  prevalent  humour 
of  the  times  bore  down  his  genius,  though  su- 
perior in  force,  perhaps,  to  any  of  our  country- 
men that  have  either  gone  before  or  succeeded 
him. 


No.  26.]  Friday,  April  10,  1713. 

Non  ego  illam  mihi  dotem  esse  puto,  qua:  dos  dicitur, 

Sed  pudiciliam  et  pudorein  et  sedatam  cupidineni. 

Plant. 

A woman’s  true  dowry,  in  my  opinion,  is  not  that 
which  is  usually  so  called  ; but  virtue,  modesty,  and  re- 
strained desires. 

A HEALTHY  old  fellow,  that  is  not  a fool,  is  the 
happiest  creature  living.  It  is  at  that  time  of 
life  only,  men  enjoy  their  faculties  with  pleasure 
and  satisfaction.  It  is  then  we  have  nothing  to 
manage,  as  the  phrase  is  ; we  speak  the  down- 
right truth,  and  whether  the  rest  of  the  world 
will  give  us  the  privilege  or  not,  we  have  so  lit- 
tle to  ask  of  them,  that  we  can  take  it.  I shall 
be  very  free  with  the  women  from  this  one  con- 
sideration  ; and,  having  nothing  to  desire  of 
them,  shall  treat  them  as  they  stand  in  nature, 
and  as  they  are  adorned  with  virtue,  and  not  as 
they  are  pleased  to  form  and  disguise  themselves. 
A set  of  fops,  from  one  generation  to  another, 
has  made  such  a pother  with  ‘ bright  eyes,  the 
fair  sex,  the  charms,  the  air,’  and  something  so 
incapable  to  be  expressed  but  with  a sigh,  that 
the  creatures  have  utterly  gone  out  of  their  very 
being,  and  there  are  no  women  in  all  the  world. 
If  the}'  are  not  nymphs,  shepherdesses,  graces, 
or  goddesses,  they  are  to  a woman,  all  of  them 
‘ the  ladies.’  Get  to  a christening  at  any  alley 
in  the  town,  and  at  the  meanest  artificer’s,  and 
the  word  is,  ‘ W cll,  who  takes  care  of  the  ladies  ?’ 
I have  taken  notice  that  over  since  the  word  For- 
sooth was  banished  for  Madam,  the  word  Woman 
has  been  discarded  for  Lady.  And  as  there  is 
now  never  a woman  in  England,  I hope  I may 
talk  of  women  without  offence  to  the  ladies. 
What  puts  me  in  this  present  disposition  to  tell 
them  their  own,  is,  that  in  the  holy  week  I very 
civilly  desired  all  delinquents  in  point  of  chastity 
to  make  some  atonement  for  their  freedoms,  by 
bestowing  a charity  upon  the  miserable  wretches 
who  languish  in  the  Lock  hospital.  But  I hear 
of  very  little  done  in  that  matter ; and  I am  in- 


formed, they  are  pleased,  instead  of  taking  no- 
tice of  my  precaution,  to  call  me  an  ill-bred  old 
fellow,  and  say  I do  not  understand  the  world. 
It  is  not,  it  seems,  within  the  rules  of  good- 
breeding to  tax  the  vices  of  people  of  quality, 
and  the  commandments  were  made  for  the  vul- 
gar. I am  indeed  informed  of  some  oblations 
sent  into  the  house,  but  they  are  all  come  from 
the  servants  of  criminals  of  condition.  A poor 
chamber-maid  has  sent  in  ten  shillings  out  of 
her  hush-money,  to  expiate  her  guilt  of  being 
in  her  mistress’s  secret ; but  says  she  dare  not 
ask  her  ladyship  for  any  thing,  for  she  is  not  to 
suppose  that  she  is  locked  up  with  a young  gen- 
tleman,  in  the  absence  of  her  husband,  three 
hours  together,  for  any  harm  ; but,  as  my  lady 
is  a person  of  great  sense,  the  girl  does  not  know 
but  that  they  were  reading  some  good  book  to- 
gether ; but  because  she  fears  it  may  be  other- 
wise, she  has  sent  her  ten  shillings  for  the  guilt 
of  concealing  it.  We  have  a thimble  from  a 
country  girl  that  owms  she  has  had  dreams  of  a 
fine  gentleman  who  comes  to  their  house,  who 
gave  her  half-a-crown,  and  bid  her  have  a care 
of  the  men  in  this  towm ; but  she  thinks  he  does 
not  mean  what  he  says,  and  sends  the  thimble 
because  she  does  not  hate  him  as  she  ought. 
The  ten  shillings,  this  thimble,  and  an  occamy 
spoon  from  some  other  unknown  poor  sinner, 
are  all  the  atonement  which  is  made  for  the 
body  of  sin  in  London  and  Westminster.  I have 
computed  that  there  is  one  in  every  three  hun- 
dred who  is  not  chaste  ; and  if  that  be  a modest 
computation,  how  great  a number  are  those  who 
make  no  account  of  my  admonition  ! It  might 
be  expected  one  or  two  of  the  two  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  honest,  might,  out  of  mere  charity 
and  compassion  to  iniquity,  as  it  is  a misfortune, 
have  done  something  upon  so  good  a time  as 
that  wherein  they  were  solicited.  But  major 
Crab-tree,  a sour  pot  companion  of  mine,  says, 
the  two  hundred  ninety  and  nine  are  one  way 
or  other  as  little  virtuous  as  the  three  hundredth 
unchaste  woman — I would  say  lady.  It  is  cer- 
tain, that  we  are  infested  with  a parcel  of  jilflirts, 
who  are  not  capable  of  being  mothers  of  brave 
men,  for  the  infant  partakes  of  the  temper  and 
disposition  of  its  mother.  We  see  the  unaccount- 
able effects  which  sudden  frights  and  longings 
have  upon  the  offspring ; and  it  is  not  to  be 
doubted,  but  the  ordinary  way  of  thinking  of 
the  mother,  has  its  infiuence  upon  what  she  bears 
about  her  nine  months.  Thus,  from  the  want 
of  care  in  this  particular  of  choosing  wives,  you 
see  men,  after  much  care,  labour,  and  study,  sur-  ^ 
prised  with  prodigious  starts  of  ill-nature  and  ’ 
passion,  that  can  be  accounted  for  no  otherwise 
but  from  hence,  that  it  grew  upon  them  in  em- 
bryo, and  the  man  was  determined  surly,  peev- 
ish, froward,  sullen,  or  outrageous,  before  he 
saw  the  light.  The  last  time  I was  in  a public 
place  I fell  in  love  by  proxy  for  sir  Harry  Lizard. 
The  young  woman  happens  to  be  of  quality. 
Her  father  was  a gentleman  of  as  noble  a dis- 
position  as  any  I ever  met  with.  The  widow, 
her  mother,  under  whose  wing  she  loves  to  ap- 
pear, and  is  proud  of  it,  is  a pattern  to  persons 
of  condition.  Good  sense,  heightened  and  ex- 
erted  with  good-breeding,  is  the  parent’s  distin-  | 


1 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


4X 


No.  27.] 

guishing  character ; and  if  we  can  get  this 
young  woman  into  our  family,  we  shall  think 
we  have  a much  better  purchase  than  others, 
who,  without  her  good  qualities,  may  bring  into 
theirs  the  greatest  accession  of  riches.  1 sent 
sir  Harry  by  last  night’s  post  the  following  letter 
on  the  subject : 

‘ Dear  Sir  Harry, — Upon  our  last  parting, 
and  as  I had  just  mounted  the  little  roan  I am  so 
fond  of,  you  called  me  back ; and  when  I stooped 
to  you,  you  squeezed  me  by  the  hand,  and  with 
allusion  to  some  pleasant  discourse  we  had  had 
a day  or  two  before  in  the  house,  concerning  the 
present  mercantile  way  of  contracting  mar- 
riages, with  a smile  and  a blush  you  bid  me  look 
upon  some  women  for  you,  and  send  word  how 
they  went.  I did  not  see  one  to  my  mind  till 
the  last  opera  before  Easter.  I assure  you  I 
have  been  as  unquiet  ever  since,  as  I wish  you 
were  till  you  had. her.  Her  height,  her  com- 
plexion, and  every  thing  but  her  age,  which  is 
under  twenty,  are  very  much  to  my  satisfaction  : 
there  is  an  ingenuous  shame  in  her  eyes,  which 
is  to  the  mind  what  the  bloom  of  youth  is  to  the 
body  ; neither  implies  that  there  are  virtuous 
habits  and  accomplishments  already  attained  by 
the  possessor,  but  they  certainly  show  an  un- 
prejudiced capacity  towards  them.  As  to  the 
circumstance  of  this  young  woman’s  age,  I am 
reconciled  to  her  want  of  years,  because  she 
pretends  to  nothing  above  them  ; you  do  not  see 
in  her  the  odious  forw’ardness  to  I know  not 
what,  as  in  the  assured  countenances,  naked 
bosoms,  and  confident  glances  of  her  contempo- 
raries. 

‘ I will  vouch  for  her,  that  you  will  have  her 
whole  heart,  if  you  can  win  it ; she  is  in  no  fa- 
miliarities with  the  fops,  her  fan  has  never  been 
yet  out  of  her  own  hand,  and  her  brother’s  face 
is  the  only  man’s  she  ever  looked  in  steadfastly. 

‘ When  I have  gone  thus  far,  and  told  you 
that  I am  very  confident  of  her  as  to  her  virtue 
and  education,  I may  speak  a little  freely  to  you, 
as  you  are  a young  man.  There  is  a dignity  in 
the  young  lady’s  beauty,  when  it  shall  become 
her  to  receive  your  friends  with  a good  air,  and 
affable  countenance  ; when  she  is  to  represent 
that  part  of  you  which  you  must  delight  in,  the 
frank  and  cheerful  reception  of  your  friends, 
her  beauties  will  do  as  much  honour  to  your 
table,  as  they  will  give  you  pleasure  in  your 
bed. 

‘ It  is  no  small  instance  of  felicity  to  have  a 
woman,  from  whose  behaviour  your  friends  are 
more  endeared  to  you ; and  for  whose  sake 
your  children  are  as  much  valued  as  for  your 
own, 

‘ It  is  not  for  me  to  celebrate  the  lovely  height 
of  her  forehead,  the  soft  pulp  of  her  lips,  or  to 
describe  the  amiable  profile  which  her  fine  hair, 
cheeks,  and  neck,  made  to  the  beholders  that 
night,  but  shall  leave  them  to  your  own  obser- 
vation when  you  come  to  town  ; which  you  may 
do  at  your  leisure,  and  be  time  enough,  for  there 
are  many  in  town  richer  than  her  whom  I re- 
commend. I am,  sir,  your  most  obedient  and 
most  humble  servant, 

‘NESTOR  IRONSIDE.’ 

F 


No.  27.]  Saturday^  April  11,  1713. 

Malta  putans,  sortemque  aniiiio  miseratus  iniqaam. 

Virg.  yEn.  vi.  333, 

Struck  with  compassion  of  so  sad  a state. 

In  compassion  to  those  gloomy  mortals,  who, 
by  their  unbelief,  are  rendered  incapable  of  feel- 
ing those  impressions  of  joy  and  hope  which  the 
celebration  of  the  late  glorious  festival  naturally 
leaves  on  the  mind  of  a Christian,  I shall  in  this 
paper  endeavour  to  evince  that  there  are  grounds 
to  expect  a future  state,  without  supposing  in 
the  reader  any  faith  at  all,  not  even  the  belief 
of  a Deity.  Let  the  most  steadfast  unbeliever 
open  his  eyes,  and  take  a survey  of  the  sensible 
world,  and  then  say  if  there  be  not  a connexion, 
and  adjustment,  and  exact  and  constant  order 
discoverable  in  all  the  parts  of  it.  Whatever 
be  the  cause,  the  thing  itself  is  evident  to  all 
our  faculties.  Look  into  the  animal  system,  the 
passions,  senses,  and  locomotive  powers ; is  not 
the  like  contrivance  and  propriety  observable 
in  these  too  ? Are  they  not  fitted  to  certain  ends, 
and  are  they  not  by  nature  directed  to  proper  ob* 
jects  ? 

Is  it  jxissible,  then,  that  the  smallest  bodies 
should,  by  a management  superior  to  the  wit  of 
man,  be  disposed  in  the  most  exeellent  manner 
agreeable  to  their  respective  natures  ; and  yet 
the  spirits  or  souls  of  men  be  neglected,  or  ma- 
naged  by  such  rules  as  fall  short  of  man’s  under- 
standing  ? Shall  every  other  passion  be  rightly 
placed  by  nature,  and  shall  that  appetite  of  im- 
mortality natural  to  all  mankind  be  alone  mis- 
placed, or  designed  to  be  frustrated  ? Shall  the 
industrious  application  of  the  inferior  animal 
pow'ers  in  the  meanest  vocations  be  answered 
by  the  ends  we  propose,  and  shall  not  the  gene- 
rous efforts  of  a virtuous  mind  be  rewarded  ? 
In  a word,  shall  the  corporeal  world  be  all  order 
and  harmony,  the  intellectual,  discord  and  con- 
fusion ? He  who  is  bigot  enough  to  believe 
these  things,  must  bid  adieu  to  that  natural  rule 
of  ‘ reasoning  from  analogy  ;’  must  run  counter 
to  that  maxim  of  common  sense,  ‘ That  men 
ought  to  form  their  judgments  of  things  unex 
perienced,  from  what  they  have  experienced,’ 

If  any  thing  looks  like  a recompense  of  cala- 
mitous virtue  on  this  side  the  grave,  it  is  either 
an  assurance  that  thereby  we  obtain  the  favour 
and  protection  of  heaven,  and  shall,  whatever 
befalls  us  in  this,  in  another  life  meet  with  a just 
return  ; or  else  that  applause  and  reputation 
which  is  thought  to  attend  virtuous  actions.  The 
former  of  these,  our  free-thinkers,  out  of  their 
singular  wisdom  and  benevolence  to  mankind, 
endeavour  to  erase  from  the  minds  of  men.  The 
latter  can  never  be  justly  distributed  in  this  life, 
where  so  many  ill  actions  are  reputable,  and  so 
many  good  actions  disesteemed  or  misinter- 
preted  ; where  subtle  hypocrisy  is  placed  in  the 
most  engaging  light,  and  modest  virtue  lies  con- 
cealed ; where  the  heart  and  the  soul  are  hid 
from  the  eyes  of  men,  and  the  eyes  of  men  are 
dimmed  and  vitiated.  Plato’s  sense  in  relation 
to  this  point,  is  contained  in  his  Gorgias,  where 
he  intr^uces  Socrates  speaking  after  this  man- 
ner : 


4* 


42 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  28. 


‘ It  was  in  the  reign  of  Saturn  provided  by  a 
law,  whieh  the  gods  have  since  continued  down 
to  this  time,  that  they  who  had  lived  virtuously 
and  piously  upon  earth,  should,  after  death,  en- 
joy a life  full  of  happiness,  in  certain  islands 
appointed  for  the  habitation  of  the  blessed : 
but  that  such  as  have  lived  wickedly  should  go 
into  the  receptacle  of  damned  souls,  named 
Tartarus,  there  to  suffer  the  punishments  they 
deserved.  But  in  all  the  reign  of  Saturn,  and 
in  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Jove,  living 
judges  were  appointed,  by  whom  each  person 
was  judged  in  his  lifetime,  in  the  same  day  on 
which  he  was  to  die.  The  consequence  of 
which  was,  that  they  often  passed  wrong  judg- 
ments. Pluto,  therefore,  who  presided  in  Tar- 
tarus, and  the  guardians  of  the  blessed  islands, 
finding  that,  on  the  other  side,  many  unfit  per- 
sons were  sent  to  their  respective  dominions, 
complained  to  Jove,  who  promised  to  redress 
the  evil.  He  added,  the  reason  of  these  unjust 
proceedings  are  that  men  are  judged  in  the 
body.  Hence  many  conceal  the  blemishes  and 
imperfections  of  their  minds  by  beauty,  birth, 
and  riches ; not  to  mention,  that  at  the  time  of 
trial  there  are  crowds  of  witnesses  to  attest 
their  having  lived  well.  These  things  mislead 
the  judges,  who  being  themselves  also  of  the 
number  of  the  living,  are  surrounded  each  with 
his  own  body,  as  with  a veil  thrown  over  his 
mind.  For  the  future,  therefore,  it  is  my  inten- 
tion that  men  do  not  come  on  their  trial  till 
after  death,  when  they  shall  appear  before  the 
judge,  disrobed  of  all  their  corporeal  ornaments. 
The  judge  himself  too  shall  be  a pure  unveiled 
spirit,  beholding  the  very  soul,  the  naked  soul 
of  the  party  before  him.  With  this  view  I have 
already  constituted  my  sons,  Minos  and  Rhada- 
manthus,  judges,  who  are  natives  of  Asia ; and 
iEacus,  a native  of  Europe.  These,  after  death, 
shall  hold  their  court  in  a certain  meadow,  from 
which  there  are  two  roads,  leading  the  one  to 
Tartarus,  the  other  to  the  Islands  of  “ the 
blessed.”  ’ 

From  this,  as  from  numberless  other  passages 
of  his  writings,  may  be  seen  Plato’s  opinion  of 
a future  state.  A thing  therefore  in  regard  to 
us  so  comfortable,  in  itself  so  just  and  excellent, 
a thing  so  agreeable  to  the  analogy  of  nature, 
and  so  universally  credited  by  all  orders  and 
ranks  of  men,  of  all  nations  and  ages,  what  is 
it  that  should  move  a few  men  to  reject  7 Surely 
there  must  be  something  of  prejudice  in  the 
case.  I appeal  to  the  secret  thoughts  of  a free- 
thinker, if  he  does  not  argue  within  himself 
after  this  manner : ‘ The  senses  and  faculties  I 
enjoy  at  present  are  visibly  designed  to  repair 
or  preserve  the  body  from  the  injuries  it  is  liable 
to  in  its  present  circumstances.  But  in  an 
eternal  state,  where  no  decays  are  to  be  re- 
paired, no  outward  injuries  to  be  fenced  against, 
where  there  are  no  flesh  and  bones,  nerves  or 
blood-vessels,  there  will  certainly  be  none  of  the 
senses ; and  that  there  should  be  a state  of  life 
without  the  senses  is  inconceivable.’ 

But  as  this  manner  of  reasoning  proceeds 
from  a poverty  of  imagination,  and  narrowness 
of  soul  in  those  that  use  it,  I shall  endeavour  to 
remedy  those  defeets,  and  ooen  their  views,  by 
laying  before  them  a case  which  being  naturally 


possible,  may  perhaps  reeoncile  them  to  the  be- 
lief of  what  is  supernaturally  revealed. 

Let  us  suppose  a person  blind  and  deaf  from 
his  birth,  who,  being  grown  to  man’s  estate,  is, 
by  the  dead  palsy,  or  some  other  cause  deprived 
of  his  feeling,  tasting,  and  smelling,  and  at  the 
same  time  has  the  impediment  of  his  hearing  re- 
moved, and  the  film  taken  from  his  eyes.  What 
the  five  senses  are  to  us,  that  the  touch,  taste, 
and  smell,  were  to  him.  And  any  other  ways 
of  perception  of  a more  refined  and  extensive 
nature  were  to  him  as  inconceivable,  as  to  us 
those  are  which  will  one  day  be  adapted  to  per- 
ceive those  things  which  ‘ eye  hath  not  seen,  nor 
ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart 
of  man  to  conceive.’  And  it  would  be  just  as 
reasonable  in  him  to  conclude,  that  the  loss  of 
those  three  senses  could  not  possibly  be  suc- 
ceeded by  any  new  inlets  of  perception,  as  in  a 
modern  free-thinker  to  imagine  there  can  be  no 
state  of  life  and  perception -without  the  senses 
he  enjoys  at  present.  Let  us  further  suppose  i 

the  same  person’s  eyes,  at  their  first  opening,  | 

to  be  struck  with  a great  variety  of  the  most  f 

gay  and  pleasing  objects,  and  his  ears  with  a i 

melodious  concert  of  vocal  and  instrumental  i 

music.  Behold  him  amazed,  ravished,  trans-  | 

ported  ; and  you  have  some  distant  representa-  | 

tion,  some  faint  and  glimmering  idea  of  the  i 

ecstatic  state  of  the  soul  in  that  article  in  which  I* 

she  emerges  from  this  sepulchre  of  flesh  into  1 

life  and  immortality. 

N.  B.  It  has  been  observed  by  the  Christians,  i 
that  a certain  ingenious  foreigner,*  who  has  t 
published  many  exemplary  jests  for  the  use  of  ( 
persons  in  the  article  of  death,  was  very  much  : 
out  of  humour  in  a late  fit  of  sickness,  till  he  ^ 
was  in  a fair  way  of  recovery. 


No.  28.]  Monday,  April  13,  1713. 

iEtas  parentum  pejor  avis  tulit 
Nos  nequiores,  mox  daturos 
Progeniem  vitiosiorem. 

Hor.  Lib.  5.  Od.  vi.  46 

Our  fathers  have  been  worse  than  theirs, 

And  we  than  ours : next  age  will  see 
A race  more  profligate  than  we.  Roscommon. 

Theocritus,  Bion,  and  Moschus  are  the  most 
famous  amongst  the  Greek  writers  of  pastorals. 
The  two  latter  of  these  are  judged  to  be  far  short 
of  Theocritus,  whom  I shall  speak  of  more 
largely,  because  he  rivals  the  greatest  of  all 
poets,  Virgil  himself.  He  hath  the  advantage 
confessedly  of  the  Latin,  in  coming  before  him, 
and  writing  in  a tongue  more  proper  for  pasto- 
ral.  The  softness  of  the  Doric  dialect,  which 
this  poet  is  said  to  have  improved  beyond  any 
who  came  before  him,  is  what  the  ancient  Ro- 
man writers  owned  their  language  eould  not  ap- 
proach. But  besides  this  beauty,  he  seems  to 
me  to  have  had  a soul  more  softly  and  tenderly 
inclined  to  this  way  of  writing  than  Virgil, 
whose  genius  led  him  naturally  to  sublimity. 
It  is  true  that  the  great  Roman,  by  the  nice- 


* M.  Deslandes.  who  w as  a free-thinker,  and  had  pnb- 
'ished  a historical  list  of  all  whodied  laughing.  He  had 
the  small  pox  here  in  England,  of  w hich  he  recovered. 


No.  29.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


43 


ness  of  his  judgment,  and  great  command  of 
himself,  has  acquitted  himself  dexterously  this 
way.  But  a penetrating  judge  will  find  there 
the  seeds  of  that  fire  which  burned  afterwards 
so  bright  in  the  Georgies,  and  blazed  out  in  the 
JEneid.  I must  not,  however,  dissemble  that 
these  bold  strokes  appear  chiefly  in  those  Ec- 
logues of  Virgil  which  ought  not  to  be  numbered 
amongst  his  pastorals,  which  are  indeed  gene- 
rally thought  to  be  all  of  the  pastoral  kind  ; but 
by  the  best  judges  are  only  called  his  select 
poems,  as  the  word  Eclogue  originally  means. 

Those  who  will  take  the  pains  to  consult 
Scaliger’s  comparison  of  these  two  poets,  will 
find  that  Theocritus  hath  outdone  iiim  in  those 
very  passages  which  the  critic  hath  produced  in 
honour  of  Virgil.  There  is,  in  short,  more  in- 
nocence, simplicity,  and  whatever  else  hath 
been  laid  down  as  the  distinguishing  marks  of 
pastoral,  in  the  Greek  than  the  Roman  : and  all 
arguments  from  the  exactness,  propriety,  con- 
ciseness, and  nobleness  of  Virgil,  may  very  w'ell 
be  turned  against  him.  There  is,  indeed,  some- 
times a grossness  and  clownishness  in  Theo- 
critus, which  Virgil,  who  borrowed  his  greatest 
beauties  from  him,  hath  avoided.  I will,  how- 
ever, add,  that  Virgil  out  of  the  excellence  of 
genius  only,  hath  come  short  of  Theocritus  : and 
had  possibly  excelled  him,  if  in  greater  subjects 
he  had  not  been  born  to  excel  all  mankind. 

The  Italians  were  the  first  amongst  the  mo- 
derns that  fell  into  pastoral  writing.  It  is  ob- 
served, that  the  people  of  that  nation  are  very 
profound,  and  abstruse  in  their  poetry  as  w'ell 
as  politics ; fond  of  surprising  conceits  and  far- 
fetched  imaginations,  and  labour  chiefly  to  say 
what  was  never  said  before.  From  persons  of 
this  character,  how  can  we  expect  that  air  of 
simplicity  and  truth  which  hath  been  proved  so 
essential  to  shepherds  ? There  are  two  pastoral 
plays  in  this  language,  which  they  boast  of  as 
the  most  elegant  performances  in  poetry  that 
the  latter  ages  have  produced  ; the  Aminta  of 
Tasso,  and  Guarini’s  Pastor  Fido.  In  these  the 
names  of  the  persons  are  indeed  pastoral,  and 
the  sylvan  gods,  the  dryads,  -and  the  satyrs,  ap- 
pointed with  the  equipage  of  antiquity  ; but 
neither  the  language,  sentiments,  passions,  or 
designs,  like  those  of  the  pretty  triflers  in  Virgil 
and  Theocritus.  I shall  produce  an  example 
out  of  each,  which  are  commonly  taken  notice 
of,  as  patterns  of  the  Italian  way  of  thinking  in 
pastoral.  Sylvia,  in  Tasso’s  poem,  enters  adorn- 
ed with  a garland  of  flowers,  and  views  herself 
in  a fountain  with  such  self-admiration,  that  she 
breaks  out  into  a speech  to  the  flowers  on  her 
head,  and  tells  them,  ‘ she  doth  not  wear  them 
to  adorn  herself,  but  to  make  them  ashamed.’ 
In  the  Pastor  Fido,  a shepherdess  reasons  after 
an  abstruse  philosophical  manner  about  the  vio- 
lence of  love,  and  expostulates  with  the  gods, 

‘ for  making  laws  so  rigorous  to  restrain  us,  and 
at  the  same  time  giving  us  invincible  desires.’ 
Whoever  can  bear  these,  may  be  assured  he 
hath  no  taste  for  pastoral. 

When  I am  speaking  of  the  Italians,  it  would 
be  unpardonable  to  pass  by  Sannazarius.  He 
hath  changed  the  scene  in  this  kind  of  poetry 
from  woods  and  lawns,  to  the  barren  beach  and 
boundless  ocean  : introduces  sea-calves  in  the 


room  of  kids  and  Iambs,  sea-mews  for  the  lark 
and  the  linnet,  and  presents  his  mistress  with 
oysters  instead  of  fruits  and  flowers.  How  good 
soever  his  style  and  thoughts  may  be,  yet  who 
can  pardon  him  for  his  arbitrary  change  of  the 
sweet  manners  and  pleasing  objects  of  the  coun- 
try, for  what  in  their  own  nature  are  uncom- 
fortable and  dreadful?  I think  he  hath  few  or 
no  followers,  or,  if  any,  such  as  knew  little  of 
his  beauties,  and  only  copied  his  faults,  and  so 
are  lost  and  forgotten. 

The  French  are  so  far  from  thinking  ab- 
strusely, that  they  often  seem  not  to  think  at  all. 
It  is  all  a run  of  numbers,  common-place  de- 
scriptions of  woods,  floods,  groves,  loves,  &.c. 
Those  who  write  the  most  accurately  fall  into 
the  manner  of  their  country,  which  is  gallantry. 
I cannot  better  illustrate  what  I would  say  of 
the  French  than  by  the  dress  in  which  they 
make  their  shepherds  appear  in  their  pastoral 
interludes  upon  the  stage,  as  I find  it  described 
by  a celebrated  author.  ‘ The  shepherds,’  saith 
he,  ‘ are  all  embroidered,  and  acquit  themselves 
in  a ball  better  than  our  English  dancing-mas- 
ters. I have  seen  a couple  of  rivers  appear  in 
red-stockings ; and  Alpheus,  instead  of  having 
his  head  covered  with  sedges  and  bull-rushes, 
making  love  in  a fair  full-bottomed  perriwig  and 
a plume  of  feathers  ; but  with  a voice  so  full  of 
shakes  and  quavers,  that  I should  have  thought 
the  murmurs  of  a country  brook  the  much 
more  agreeable  music.’ 


No.  29.]  Tuesday^  April  14,  1713. 

Ride  si  sapis Mart.  Lib.  2.  Epig.  xli.  1. 

Laugh  if  you  are  wise. 

In  order  to  look  into  any  person’s  temper, 
I generally  make  my  first  observation  upon  his 
laugh,  whether  he  is  easily  moved,  and  what  are 
the  passages  which  throw  him  into  that  agree- 
able kind  of  convulsion.  People  are  never  so 
much  unguarded,  as  when  they  are  pleased ; 
and  laughter  being  a visible  symptom  of  some 
inward  satisfaction,  it  is  then,  if  ever,  we  may 
believe  the  face.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  better 
index  to  point  us  to  the  particularities  of  the 
mind  than  this,  which  is  in  itself  one  of  the 
chief  distinctions  of  our  rationality.  For,  as 
Milton  says, 

‘ Smiles  from  reason  flow,  to  brutes  deny’d. 

And  are  of  love  the  food ’ 

It  may  be  remarked  in  general  under  this  head, 
that  the  laugh  of  men  of  wit  is  for  the  most  part 
but  a faint  constrained  kind  of  half-laugh,  as 
such  persons  are  never  without  some  diffidence 
about  them  : but  that  of  fools  is  the  most  ho- 
nest, natural,  open  laugh  in  the  world. 

I have  often  had  thoughts  of  writing  a trea- 
tise upon  this  faculty,  wherein  I would  have 
laid  down  rules  for  the  better  regulation  of  it  at 
the  theatre.  I would  have  criticised  on  the  laughs 
now  in  vogue,  by  which  our  comic  writers  might 
the  better  know  how  to  transport  an  audience 
into  this  pleasing  affection.  I had  set  apart  a 
chapter  for  a dis.sertation  on  the  talents  of  some 
of  our  modern  comedians  ; and  as  it  was  the 


44 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  S3, 


manner  of  Plutarch  to  draw  comparisons  of  his 
heroes  and  orators,  to  set  their  actions  and  elo- 
quence in  a fairer  light ; so  I would  have  made 
the  parallel  of  Pinkethman,  Norris,  and  Bullock ; 
and  so  far  shown  their  different  methods  of  rais- 
ing mirth,  that  any  one  should  be  able  to  dis- 
tinguish whether  the  jest  was  the  poet’s  or  the 
actor’s. 

^ As  the  playhouse  affords  us  the  most  occa- 
sions of  observing  upon  the  behaviour  of  the 
face,  it  may  be  useful  (for  the  direction  of  those 
who  Would  be  critics  this  way)  to  remark,  that 
the  virgin  ladies  usually  dispose  themselves  in 
the  front  of  the  boxes,  the  young  married  women 
Compose  the  second  row,  while  the  rear  is  gene- 
rally rnade  up  of  mothers  of  long  standing,  un- 
designing  maids,  and  contented  widows.  Who- 
ever will  cast  his  eye  upon  them  under  this 
view,  during  the  representation  of  a play,  will 
find  me  so  far  in  the  right,  that  a double  en- 
tendre  strikes  the  first  row  into  an  affected  gra- 
vity, or  careless  indolence,  the  second  will  ven- 
ture at  a smile,  but  the  third  take  the  conceit 
entirely,  and  express  their  mirth  in  a downright 
laugh. 

When  I descend  to  particulars,  I find  the 
reserved  prude  will  relapse  into  a smile  at  the 
extravagant  freedoms  of  the  coquette ; the  co- 
quette in  her  turn  laughs  at  the  starcliness  and 
awkward  affectation  of  the  prude ; the  man  of 
letters  is  tickled  with  the  vanity  and  ignorance 
of  the  fop ; and  the  fop  confesses  his  ridicule  at 
the  unpoliteness  of  the  pedant. 

I fancy  we  may  range  the  several  kinds  of 
laughers  under  the  following  heads  : 

The  Dimplers. 

The  Smilers. 

The  Laughers. 

The  Grinners. 

The  Horse-laughers. 

The  dimple  is  praetised  to  give  a grace  to  the 
features,  and  is  frequently  made  a bait  to  en- 
tangle a gazing  lover ; this  was  called  by  the 
ancients  the  Chian  laugh. 

The  smile  is  for  the  most  part  confined  to  the 
fair  sex,  and  their  male  retinue.  It  expresses 
our  satisfaction  in  a silent  sort  of  approbation, 
doth  not  too  much  disorder  the  features,  and  is 
practised  by  lovers  of  the  most  delicate  ad- 
dress. This  tender  motion  of  the  physiognomy 
the  ancients  called  the  Ionic  laugh. 

The  laugh  among  us  is  the  common  Risus  of 
the  ancients. 

The  grin  by  writers  of  antiquity  is  called  the 
Syncrusian ; aud  was  then,  as  it  is  at  this  time, 
made  use  of  to  display  a beautiful  set  of  teeth. 

The  horse-laugh,  or  the  Sardonic,  is  made 
use  of  with  great  success  in  all  kinds  of  dispu- 
tation. The  proficients  in  this  kind,  by  a well- 
timed  laugh,  will  bafile  the  most  solid  argu- 
ment. This  upon  all  occasions  supplies  the 
want  of  reason,  is  always  received  with  great 
applause  in  coffee-house  disputes  ; and  that  side 
the  laugh  joins  with,  is  generally  observed  to 
gain  the  better  of  his  antagonist. 

The  prude  hath  a wonderful  esteem  for  the 
Chian  laugh  or  dimple : she  looks  upon  all  the 
Other  kinds  of  laughter  as  excesses  of  levity  ; and 
is  never  seen  upon  the  most  extravagant  jests, 
t<i  diftovder  her  countenance  with  the  ruffle  of  a 


smile.  Her  lips  are  composed  with  a primness 
peculiar  to  her  character,  all  her  modesty  seems 
collected  into  her  face,  and  she  but  very  rarely 
takes  the  freedom  to  sink  her  cheek  into  a 
dimple. 

The  young  widow  is  only  a Chian  for  a time ; 
her  smiles  are  confined  by  decorum,  and  she  is 
obliged  to  make  her  face  sympathize  with  her 
habit;  she  looks  demure  by  art,  and  by  the 
strictest  rules  of  decency  is  never  allowed  the 
smile  till  the  first  offer  or  advance  towards  her 
is  over. 

The  effeminate  fop,  who,  by  the  long  exercise 
of  his  countenance  at  the  glass,  hath  reduced  it 
to  an  exact  discipline,  may  claim  a place  in  this 
clan.  You  see  him  upqn  any  occasion,  to  give 
spirit  to  his  discourse,  admire  his  own  elo- 
quence by  a dimple. 

The  Ionics  are  those  ladies  that  take  a greater 
liberty  with  their  features ; yet  even  these  may 
be  said  to  smother  a laugh,  as  the  former  to 
stifle  a ^mile. 

The  beau  is  an  Ionic  out  of  complaisance,  and 
practises  the  smile  the  better  to  sympathize 
with  the  fair.  He  will  sometimes  join  in  a 
laugh  to  humour  the  spleen  of  a lady,  or  applaud 
a piece  of  wit  of  his  own,  but  always  takes  care 
to  confine  his  mouth  within  the  rules  of  good 
breeding ; he  takes  the  laugh  from  the  ladies, 
but  is  never  guilty  of  so  great  an  indecorum 
as  to  begin  it. 

The  Ionic  laugh  is  of  universal  use  to  men 
of  power  at  their  levees ; and  is  esteemed  by  j u- 
dicious  place-hunters  a more  particular  mark 
of  distinction  than  the  whisper.  A young  gen- 
tleman of  my  acquaintance  valued  himself  upon 
his  success,  having  obtained  this  favour  after 
the  attendance  of  three  months  only. 

A judicious  author,  some  years  since,  pub- 
lished a collection  of  sonnets,  which  he  very 
successfully  called.  Laugh  and  be  Fat ; or.  Pills 
to  purge  Melancholy  : I cannot  sufficiently  ad- 
mire the  facetious  title  of  these  volumes,  and 
must  censure  the  world  of  ingratitude,  while 
they  are  so  negligent  in  rewarding  the  jocose 
labours  of  my  friend  Mr.  D’Urfey,  who  was  so 
large  a contributor  to  this  treatise,  and  to  whose 
humourous  productions  so  many  rural  squires 
in  the  remotest  parts  of  this  island  are  obliged 
for  the  dignity  and  state  which  corpulency 
gives  them.  The  story  of  the  sick  man’s  break- 
ing an  imposthume  by  a sudden  fit  of  laughter, 
is  too  well  known  to  need  a recital.  It  is  my 
opinion,  that  the  above  pills  would  be  extremely 
proper  to  be  taken  with  asses’  milk,  and  mightily 
contribute  towards  the  renewing  and  restoring 
decayed ‘lungs.  Democritus  is  generally  repre- 
sented to  us  as  a man  of  the  largest  size,  which 
we  may  attribute  to  his  frequent  exercise  of  his 
risible  faculty.  I remember  Juvenal  says  of  him, 

Perpetuo  risu  pulinonum  agitare  solebat. — Sat.  x.  33. 

He  shook  his  sides  with  a perpetual  laugh. 

That  sort  of  man  whom  a late  w’riter  has 
called  the  Butt,  is  a great  promoter  of  this 
healthful  agitation,  and  is  generally  stocked 
with  so  much  good  humour,  as  to  strike  in  wdth 
the  gayety  of  conversation,  though^ome  innocent 
blunder  of  his  own  be  the  subject  of  the  raillery. 

I shall  range  all  old  amorous  dotards  under 
the  denomination  of  Grinners ; when  a young 


No.  30.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


45 


blooming  wench  touches  their  fancy,  by  an  en- 
deavour to  recall  youth  into  their  cheeks,  they 
immediately  overstrain  their  muscular  features, 
and  shrivel  their  countenance  into  this  frightful 
merriment. 

The  wag  is  of  the  same  kind,  and  by  the 
Same  artifice  labours  to  support  his  impotence 
of  wit : but  he  very  frequently  calls  in  the  horse- 
laugh to  his  assistance. 

There  are  another  kind  of  grinners,  which 
the  ancients  call  Megarics ; and  some  moderns 
have,  not  injudiciously,  given  them  the  name 
of  the  Sneerers.  These  always  indulge  their 
I mirth  at  the  expense  of  their  friends,  and  all 
their  ridicule  consists  in  unseasonable  ilbnature. 
I could  wish  these  laughers  would  consider, 
that  let  them  do  what  they  can,  there  is  no 
laughing  away  their  own  follies  by  laughing  at 
other  people’s. 

The  mirth  of  the  tea-table  is  for  the  most 
part  Megaric;  and  in  visits  the  ladies  them- 
selves very  seldom  scruple  the  sacrificing  a 
friendship  to  a laugh  of  this  denomination. 

The  coquette  hath  a great  deal  of  the  Mega- 
ric in  her ; but,  in  short,  she  is  a proficient  in 
laughter,  and  can  run  through  the  whole  exer- 
cise of  the  features;  she  subdues  the  formal 
I lover  with  the  dimple,  accosts  the  fop  with  the 
smile,  joins  with  the  wit  in  the  downright 
laugh,  to  vary  the  air  of  her  countenance  fre- 
quently  rallies  with  the  grin,  and  when  she  has 
I ridiculed  her  lover  quite  out  of  his  understand- 
ing, to  complete  his  misfortunes,  strikes  him 
dumb  with  the  horse-laugh. 

The  horse-laugh  is  a distinguishing  charac- 
teristic of  the  rural  hoyden,  and  it  is  observed 
to  be  the  last  symptom  of  rusticity  that  forsakes 
her  under  the  discipline  of  the  boarding-school. 

Punsters,  I find,  very  much  contribute  to- 
I wards  the  Sardonic,  and  the  extremes  of  either 
I wit  or  folly  seldom  fail  of  raising  this  noisy 
kind  of  applause.  As  the  ancient  physicians 
held  the  Sardonic  laugh  very  beneficial  to  the 
lungs ; I should,  methinks,  advise  all  my  coun- 
trymen of  consumptive  and  hectical  constitu- 
tions to  associate  with  the  most  facetious  pun- 
sters  of  the  age.  Persius  hath  very  elegantly  de- 
I scribed  a Sardonic  laugher  in  the  following  line, 
Ingeminat  tremulos  naso  crispante  cachinnos. 

I Sat.  iii.  87. 

Redoubled  peals  of  trembling  laughter  bursts, 
Convulsing  every  feature  of  the  face. 

Laughter  is  a vent  of  any  sudden  joy  that 
strikes  upon  the  mind,  which  being  too  volatile 
and  strong,  breaks  out  in  this  tremor  of  the 
j voice.  The  poets  make  use  of  this  metaphor 
when  they  would  describe  nature  in  her  richest 
dress,  for  beauty  is  never  so  lovely  as  when 
adorned  with  the  smile,  and  conversation  never 
sits  easier  upon  us,  than  when  we  now  and 
then  discharge  ourselves  in  a symphony  of 
laughter,  which  may  not  improperly  be  called. 
The  Chorus  of  Conversation. 


No.  30.]  Wednesday,  April  15,  1713. 

— redeunt  Saturnia  Regna.  Virg.  Eel.  iv.  6. 

Saturnian  times 

Roll  round  again.  Dryden. 

The  Italians  and  French  being  despatched, 


I come  now  to  the  English,  whom  I shall  treat 
with  such  meekness  as  becomes  a good  patriot ; 
and  shall  so  far  recommend  this  our  island  as 
a proper  scene  lor  pastoral,  under  certain  regu- 
lations, as  will  satisfy  the  courteous  reader  that 
I am  in  the  landed  interest. 

I must  in  the  first  place  observe,  that  our 
countrymen  have  so  good  an  opinion  of  the  an- 
cients, and  think  so  modestly  of  themselves, 
that  the  generality  of  pastoral  writers  have 
either  stolen  all  from  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
or  so  servilely  imitated  their  manners  and  cus- 
toms, as  makes  them  very  ridiculous.  In  look- 
ing over  some  English  pastorals  a few  days  ago, 
I perused  at  least  fifty  lean  flocks,  and  reckoned 
up  a hundred  left-handed  ravens,  besides  blasted 
oaks,  withering  meadows,  and  weeping  deities. 
Indeed  most  of  the  occasional  pastorals  we  have, 
are  built  upon  one  and  the  same  plan.  A shep- 
herd asks  his  fellow,  ‘ Why  he  is  so  pale  ? if  his 
favourite  sheep  hath  strayed?  if  his  pipe  be 
broken  ? or  Phyllis  unkind  ?’  He  answers, 

‘ None  of  these  misfortunes  have  befallen  him, 
but  one  much  greater,  for  Damon  (or  sometimes 
the  god  Pan)  is  dead.’  This  immediately  causes 
the  other  to  make  complaints,  and  call  upon  the 
lofty  pines  and  silver  streams  to  join  in  the  la- 
mentation. While  he  goes  on,  his  friend  inter- 
rupts him,  and  tells  him  that  Damon  lives,  and 
shows  him  a track  of  light  in  the  skies  to  con- 
firm it ; then  invites  him  to  chesnuts  and  cheese. 
Upon  this  scheme  most  of  the  noble  families  in 
Great  Britain  have  been  comforted ; nor  can  I 
meet  with  any  right  honourable  shepherd  that 
doth  not  die  and  live  again,  after  the  manner 
of  the  aforesaid  Damon. 

Having  already  informed  my  reader  wherein 
the  knowledge  of  antiquity  may  be  serviceable, 
I shall  now  direct  him  where  he  may  lawfully 
deviate  from  the  ancients.  There  are  some 
things  of  an  established  nature  in  pastoral, 
which  are  essential  to  it,  such  as  a country 
scene,  innocence,  simplicity.  Others  there  are 
of  a changeable  kind,  such  as  habits,  customs, 
and  the  like.  The  difference  of  the  climate  is 
also  to  be  considered,  for  what  is  proper  in 
Arcadia,  or  even  in  Italy,  might  be  very  absurd 
in  a colder  country.  By  the  same  rule,  the 
difference  of  the  soil,  of  fruits,  and  flowers,  is 
to  be  observed.  And  in  so  fine  a country  as 
Britain,  what  occasion  is  there  for  that  profu- 
sion of  hyacinths  and  Paestan  roses,  and  that 
cornucopia  of  foreign  fruits  which  the  British 
shepherds  never  heard  of?  How  much  more 
pleasing  is  the  following  scene  to  an  English 
reader  1 

‘ This  place  may  seem  for  shepherds’  leisure  made, 

So  lovingly  these  elms  unite  tlieir  shade, 

Th’  ambitious  woodbine,  how  it  climbs  to  breathe 
Its  balmy  sweets  around  on  all  beneath ! 

The  ground  with  grass  of  cheerful  green  bespread, 
Thro’  which  the  springing  flower  uprears  its  head ! 
Lo,  here  the  king-cupof  a golden  hue. 

Medley’d  with  daisies  white,  and  endive  blue  1 
Hark ! how  the  gaudy  goldfinch  and  the  thrush. 

With  tuneful  warblings  fill  that  bramble  bush! 

In  pleasing  concert  all  the  birds  combine. 

And  tempt  us  in  the  various  song  to  join.’ 

The  theology  of  the  ancient  pastoral  Is  so 
very  pretty,  that  it  were  pity  entirely  to  change 
it ; but  I think  that  part  only  is  to  be  retained 
which  is  universally  known,  and  the  rest  to  be 


46 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


made  up  out  of  our  own  rustical  superstition 
of  hob-thrushes,  fairies,  goblins,  and  witches. 
The  fairies  are  capable  of  being  made  very  en- 
tertaining persons,  as  they  are  described  by 
several  of  our  poets ; and  particularly  by  Mr. 
Pope  : 

‘ About  this  spring  (if  ancient  fame  say  true) 

The  dapper  elves  their  moon  light  sports  pursue, 
Their  pigmy  king,  and  little  fairy  queen, 

In  circling  dances  gambol’d  on  the  green, 

While  tuneful  sprites  a merry  concert  made. 

And  airy  music  warbled  through  the  shade.’ 

What  hath  been  said  upon  the  difference  of 
■climate,  soil,  and  theology,  reaches  the  prover- 
bial sayings,  dress,  customs  and  sports  of  shep- 
herds. The  following  examples  of  our  pastoral 
sports  are  extremely  beautiful : 

‘ Whilome  did  I,  all  as  this  poplar  fair, 

Upraise  my  heedless  head,  devoid  of  care, 

’Mong  rustic  routs  the  chief  for  wanton  game  ; 

Nor  could  they  merry  make  till  Lobbin  came. 

Who  better  seen  than  I in  shepherds’  arts. 

To  please  the  lads,  and  win  the  lasses’  hearts? 

How  deftly  to  mine  oaten  reed,  so  sweet. 

Wont  they  upon  the  green  to  shift  their  feet? 

And  when  the  dance  was  done,  how  would  they  yearn 
Some  well  devised  tale  from  me  to  learn  ? 

For  many  songs,  and  tales  of  mirth  had  I, 

To  chase  the  ling’ring  sun  adown  the  sky.’ 

O now!  if  ever,  bring 

The  laurel  green,  the  smelling  eglantine. 

And  tender  branches  frojn  the  mantling  vine. 

The  dewy  cowslip  that  in  meadow  grows. 

The  fountain  violet,  and  garden  rose: 

Your  hamlet  strew,  and  eveiy  public  way. 

And  consecrate  to  mirth  Albino’s  day. 

Myself  will  lavish  all  my  little  store  : 

And  deal  about  the  goblet  flowing  o’er: 

Old  Moulin  there  shall  harp,  young  Mico  sing, 

And  Cuddy  dance  the  round  amidst  the  ring. 

And  Hobbinol  his  antic  gambols  play.’ 

The  reason  why  such  changes  from  the  an- 
cients should  be  introduced  is  very  obvious  ; 
namely,  that  poetry  being  imitation,  and  that 
imitation  being  the  best  which  deceives  the 
most  easily,  it  follows  that  we  must  take  up  the 
customs  which  are  most  familiar,  or  universally 
known,  since  no  man  can  be  deceived  or  delight- 
ed with  the  imitation  of  what  he  is  ignorant  of. 

It  is  easy  to  be  observed  that  these  rules  are 
drawn  from  what  our  countr3’^men  Spenser  and 
Philips  have  performed  in  this  way.  I shall 
not  presume  to  say  any  more  of  them,  than  that 
both  have  copied  and  improved  ihe  beauties  of 
the  ancients,  whose  manner  of  thinking  I would 
above  all  things  recommend.  As  far  as  our 
language  would  allow  them,  they  have  formed 
a pastoral  style  according  to  the  Doric  of  Theo- 
critus, in  which  I dare  not  say  they  have  ex- 
celled Virgil ! but  I may  be  allowed,  for  the 
honour  of  our  language,  to  suppose  it  more  ca- 
pable of  that  pretty  rusticity  than  the  Latin. 
To  their  works  I refer  my  reader  to  make  ob- 
servations upon  the  pastoral  style  ,v  where  he 
will  sooner  find  that  secret  than  from  a folio  of 
criticims. 


No.  31.]  Thursday^  April  16,  1713. 

Fortem  posce  animum Jw.  Sat.  x.  357. 

Ask  of  the  gods  content  and  strength  of  mind. 

My  lady  Lizard  is  never  better  pleased  than 
when  she  sees  her  children  about  her  engaged 


[No.  31. 

in  any  profitable  discourse.  I found  her  last 
night  sitting  in  the  midst  of  her  daughters,  and 
forming  a very  beautiful  semicircle  about  the 
fire.  I immediately  took  my  place  in  an  elbow 
chair,  which  is  always  left  empty  for  me  in  one 
corner. 

Our  conversation  fell  insensibly  upon  the 
subject  of  happiness,  in  which  every  one  of  the 
young  ladies  gave  her  opinion,  with  that  free- 
dom and  unconcernedness  which  they  always 
use  when  they  are  in  company  only  with  their 
mother  and  myself. 

Mrs.  Jane  declared,  that  she  thought  it  the 
greatest  happiness  to  be  married  to  a man  of 
merit,  and  placed  at  the  head  of  a well-regu- 
lated family.  I could  not  but  observe,  that  in 
her  character  of  a man  of  merit,  she  gave  us  a 
lively  description  of  Tom  Worthy,  who  has  long 
made  his  addresses  to  her.  The  sisters  did  not 
discover  this  at  first,  till  she  began  to  run  down 
fortune  in  a lover,  and,  among  the  accomplish- 
ments of  a man  of  merit,  unluckily  mentioned 
white  teeth  and  black  eyes. 

Mrs.  Annabella,  after  having  rallied  her  sister 
upon  her  man  of  merit,  talked  much  of  conve- 
niences of  life,  affluence  of  fortune,  and  easi- 
ness of  temper,  in  one  whom  she  should  pitch 
upon  for  a husband.  In  short,  though  the  bag- 
gage would  not  speak  out,  I found  the  sum  of 
her  wishes  was  a rich  fool,  or  a man  so  turned 
to  her  purposes,  that  she  might  enjoy  his  for- 
tune, and  insult  his  understanding. 

The  romantic  Cornelia  was  for  living  in  a 
wood  among  choirs  of  birds,  with  zephyrs, 
echos,  and  rivulets,  to  make  up  the  concert : 
she  would  not  seem  to  include  a husband  in  her 
scheme,  but  at  the  same  time  talked  so  pas- 
sionately of  cooing  turtles,  mossy  banks,  and 
beds  of  violets,  that  one  might  easily  perceive 
she  was  not  without  thoughts  of  a companion 
in  her  solitudes. 

Miss  Bett}^  placed  her  summum  honnm  in 
equipages,  assemblies,  balls,  and  birth-nights, 
talked  in  raptures  of  sir  Edward  Shallow’s  gilt 
coach,  and  m}”^  lady  Tattle’s  room,  in  which  she 
saw  company  ; nor  would  she  have  easily  given 
over,  had  she  not  observed  that  her  mother  ap- 
peared more  serious  than  ordinary,  and  by  her 
looks  showed  that  she  did  not  approve  such  a 
redundance  of  vanity  and  impertinence. 

My  favourite,  the  Sparkler,  with  an  air  of 
innocence  and  modesty,  which  is  peculiar  to 
her,  said  that  she  never  expected  such  a thing 
as  happiness,  and  that  she  thought  the  most 
any  one  could  do  was  to  keep  themselves  from 
being  uneasy' ; for,  as  Mr.  Ironside  has  often 
told  us,  says  she,  we  should  endeavour  to  be 
easy  here,  and  happy  hereafter:  at  the  same 
time  she  begged  me  to  acquaint  them  by  what 
rules  this  ease  of  mind,  or  if  I would  please  to 
call  it  happiness,  is  best  attained. 

My  lady  Lizard  joined  in  the  same  request 
with  her  youngest  daughter,  adding,  with  a 
serious  look.  The  thing  seemed  to  her  of  so  great 
consequence,  that  she  hoped  I would,  for  once, 
forget  they  were  all  women,  and  give  mj"  real 
thoughts  of  it  with  the  same  justness  I would 
use  among  a company  of  mj’  own  sex.  I com- 
plied with  her  desire,  and  communicated  my 
sentiments  to  them  on  this  subject  as  near  as  I 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


47 


No.  32.] 

I can  remember,  pretty  much  to  the  following- 
purpose. 

As  nothing  is  more  natural  than  for  every 
one  to  desire  to  be  happy,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  the  wisest  men  in  all  ages  have 
spent  so  much  time  to  discover  what  happiness 
is,  and  wherein  it  chiefly  consists.  An  eminent 
writer,  named  Varro,  reckons  up  no  less  than 
two  hundred  and  eighty-eight  different  opinions 
upon  this  subject ; arid  another,  called  Lucian, 
after  having  given  us  a long  catalogue  of  the 
notions  of  several  philosophers,  endeavours  to 
' show  the  absurdity  of  all  of  them,  without  esta- 
I blishing  any  thing  of  his  own. 

That  which  seems  to  have  made  so  many  err 
in  this  case,  is  the  resolution  they  took  to  flx  a 
man’s  happiness  to  one  determined  point ; which 
I conceive  cannot  be  made  up  but  by  the  con- 
currence of  several  particulars. 

I shall  readily  allow  Virtue  the  first  place,  as 
she  is  the  mother  of  Content.  It  is  this  which 
cairns  our  thoughts,  and  makes  us  survey  our- 
selves with  ease  and  pleasure.  Naked  virtue, 
however,  is  not  alone  sufficient  to  make  a man 
happy.  It  must  be  accompanied  witli  at  least 
a moderate  provision  of  all  the  necessaries  of 
life,  and  not  miffed  and  disturbed  by  bodily 
pains,  A fit  of  the  stone  v»^as  sharp  enough  to 
make  a stoic  cry  out,  ‘that  Zeno,  liis  master, 
taught  him  false,  when  he  told  him  that  pain 
was  no  evil.’ 

But,  besides  this,  virtue  is  so  far  from  being 
alone  sufficient  to  make  a man  happy,  that  the 
excess  of  it  in  some  particulars,  joined  to  a soft 
and  feminine  temper,  may  often  give  us  the 
deepest  wounds,  and  chiefly  contribute  to  ren- 
der us  uneasy.  I might  instance  in  pity,  love, 

I and  friendship.  In  the  two  last  passions  it  often 
happens,  that  we  so  entirely  give  up  our  hearts, 
as  to  make  our  happiness  wholly  depend  upon 
another  person;  a trust  for  which  no  human 
creature,  however  excellent,  can  possibly  give 
us  a sufficient  security. 

Tl\e  man,  therefore,  who  would  be  truly 
happy,  must,  besides  an  habitual  virtue,  attain 
to  such  a ‘strength  of  mind,’  as  to  confine  his 
! happiness  within  himself,  and  keep  it  from 
being  dependent  upon  others.  A man  of  this 
make  will  perform  all  those  good-natured  offices 
that  could  have  been  expected  from  the  most 
bleeding  pity,  without  being  so  far  affected  at 
the  common  misfortunes  of  human  life,  as  to 
disturb  his  own  repose.  His  actions  of  this 
I kind  are  so  much  more  meritorious  than  an- 
other’s, as  they  flow  purely  from  a principle  of 
virtue,  and  a sense  of  his  duty;  whereas  a man 
of  a softer  temper,  even  while  he  is  assisting 
another,  may  in  some  measure  be  said  to  be  re- 
lieving himself. 

A man  endowed  with  that  ‘ strength  of  mind’ 
I am  here  speaking  of,  though  he  leaves  it  to 
his  friend  or  mistress  to  make  him  still  more 
happy,  does  not  put  it  in  the  power  of  either  to 
make  him  miserable. 

From  what  has  been  already  said,  it  will  also 
appear,  that  nothing  can  be  more  weak  than  to 
place  our  happiness  in  the  applause  of  others, 
since  by  this  means  we  make  it  wholly  inde- 
pendent of  ourselves.  People  of  this  humour, 
who  place  their  chief  felicity  in  reputation  and 


applause,  arc  also  extremely  subject  to  envy, 
the  most  painful  as  well  as  the  most  absurd  of 
all  passions. 

The  surest  means  to  attain  that  ‘strength  of 
mind,’  and  independent  state  of  happiness  I am 
here  recommending,  is  a virtuous  mind  suffi- 
ciently furnislied  with  ideas  to  support  solitude, 
and  keep  up  an  agreeable  conversation  with 
itself.  Learning  is  a very  great  help  on  this 
occasion,  as  it  lays  up  an  infinite  number  of^ 
notions  in  the  memory,  ready  to  be  drawn  out® 
and  set  in  order  upon  any  occasion.  The  mind 
often  takes  the  same  pleasure  in  looking  over 
these  her  treasures,  in  augmenting  and  dispos- 
ing-them  into  proper  forms,  as  a prince  does  in 
a review  of  his  army. 

At  the  same  time  I must  own,  that  as  a mind 
thus  furnished,  feels  a secret  pleasure  in  the 
consciousness  of  its  own  perfection,  and  is  de- 
lighted with  such  occasions  as  call  upon  it  to  try 
its  force,  a lively  imagination  shall  produce  a 
pleasure  very  little  inferior  to  the  former  in 
persons  of  much  weaker  heads.  As  the  first, 
therefore,  may  not  be  improperly  called,  ‘ the 
heaven  of  a wise  man,’  the  latter  is  extremely 
well  represented  by  our  vulgar  expression, 
which  terms  it,  ‘ a fool’s  paradise.’  There  is, 
however,  this  difference  between  them,  that  as 
the  first  naturally  produces  that  strength  and 
greatness  of  mind  I have  been  all  along  de- 
scribing as  so  essential  to  render  a man^happy, 
the  latter  is  ruffled  and  discomposed  by  every 
accident,  and  lost  under  the  most  common  mis- 
fortune. 

It  is  this  ‘ strength  of  mind’  that  is  not  to  be 
overcome  by  the  changes  of  fortune,  that  rises 
at  the  sight  of  dangers,  and  could  make  Alex- 
ander (in  that  passage  of  his  life  so  much  ad- 
mired by  tlie  prince  of  Conde,)  when  his  army 
mutinied,  bid  his  soldiers  return  to  Macedon, 
and  tell  their  countrymen  that  they  had  left  their 
king  conquering  the  world  ; since  for  his  part 
he  could  not  doubt  of  raising  an  army  wherever 
he  appeared.  It  is  this  that  chiefly  exerts  itself 
when  a man  is  most  oppressed,  and  gives  him 
alwaj’-s  in  proportion  to  whatever  malice  or  in- 
justice would  deprive  him  of.  It  is  tiiis,  in 
short,  that  makes  the  virtuous  man  insensibly 
set  a value  upon  himself,  and  throws  a varnish 
over  his  words  and  actions,  that  will  at  last 
command  esteem,  and  give  him  a greater  as- 
cendant over  others,  than  all  the  advantages  of 
birth  and  fortune. 


No.  32.]  Friday,  April  17,  1713. 

ipse  volens,  facilisqae  sequetiir, 

Si  te  fata  vocant:  alitei-  non  viribiis  ullis 

VincasT Virg.  JEn.  vi.  146. 

The  willing  metal  will  obey  thy  hand, 

Following  with  ease,  if,  favour'd  by  thy  fate, 

Thou  art  foredoom’d  to  view  the  Stygian  state  : 

If  not  no  labour  can  the  tree  constrain  : 

And  strength  of  stubborn  arms  and  steel  are  vain. 

IJrydcii. 

Having  delivered  my  tlioughts  upon  pastoral 
poetry,  after  a didactic  manner,  in  some  fore- 
going papers,  wherein  I have  taken  such  hints 
from  the  critics  as  I thought  rational,  and  de- 
parted from  them  according  to  the  best  of  my 


48  THE  GUARDIAN.  [No.  32.  ) 


judgment,  and  substituted  others  in  their  place, 
I shall  close  the  whole  with  the  following  fable 
or  allegory. 

In  ancient  times  there  dwelt  in  a pleasant 
vale  of  Arcadia  a man  of  very  ample  possessions, 
named  Menalcas ; who,  deriving  his  pedigree 
from  the  god  Pan,  kept  very  strictly  up  to  the 
rules  of  the  pastoral  life,  as  it  was  in  the  golden 
age.  He  had  a daughter,  his  only  child,  called 

maryllis.  She  was  a virgin  of  a most  enchant- 

g beauty,  of  a most  easy  and  unaffected  air  ; 
but  having  been  bred  up  wholly  in  the  country, 
was  bashful  to  the  last  degree.  She  had  a voice 
that  was  exceeding  sweet,  yet  had  a rusticity 
in  its  tone,  which,  however,  to  most  who  heard 
her  seemed  an  additional  charm.  Though  in 
her  conversation  in  general  she  was  very  enga- 
ging, yet  to  her  lovers,  who  were  numerous,  she 
was  so  coy,  that  many  left  her  in  disgust  after 
a tedious  courtship,  and  matched, themselves 
where  they  were  better-received.  For  Menalcas 
had  not  only  resolved  to  take  a son-in-law  who 
should  inviolably  maintain  the  customs  of  his 
family,  but  had  received  one  evening  as  he 
walked  in  the  fields,  a pipe  of  an  antique  form 
from  a faun,  or  as  some  say,  from  Oberon  the 
fairy,  with  a particular  charge  not  to  bestow  his 
daughter  upon  any  one  who  could  not  play  the 
same  tune  upon  it  as  at  that  time  he  entertained 
him  with. 

When  the  time  that  he  had  designed  to  give 
her  in  marriage  was  near  at  hand,  he  published 
a decree,  whereby  he  invited  the  neighbouring 
youths  to  make  trial  of  this  musical  instrument, 
with  promise  that  the  victor  should  possess  his 
daughter,  on  condition  that  the  vanquished 
should  submit  to  what  punishment  he  thought 
fit  to  inflict.  Those  who  were  not  yet  discou- 
raged, and  had  high  conceits  of  their  own 
worth,  appeared  on  the  appointed  day,  in  a 
dress  and  equipage  suitable  to  their  respective 
fancies.. 

The  place  of  meeting  was  a flowery  meadow, 
through  which  a clear  stream  murmured  in 
many  irregular  meanders.  The  shepherds  made 
a spacious  ring  for  the  contending  lovers  : and 
in  one  part  of  it  there  sat  upon  a little  throne  of 
turf,  under  an  arch  of  eglantine  and  woodbines, 
the  father  of  the  maid,  and  at  his  right  hand  the 
damsel  crowned  with  roses  and  lilies.  She  wore 
a flying  robe  of  a slight  green  stuff ; she  had 
her  sheep-hook  in  one  hand,  and  the  fatal  pipe 
in  the  other. 

The  first  who  approached  her  was  a youth  of 
a graceful  presence  and  courtly  air,  but  drest  in 
a richer  habit  than  had  ever  been  seen  in  Ar- 
cadia. He  wore  a crimson  vest,  cut  indeed  after 
the  shepherd’s  fashion,  but  so  enriched  with  em- 
broidery, and  sparkling  with  jewels,  that  the 
eyes  of  the  spectators  were  diverted  from  consi- 
dering the  mode  of  the  garment  by  the  dazzling 
of  the  ornaments.  His  head  was  covered  with  a 
plume  of  feathers,  and  his  sheep-hook  glittered 
with  gold  and  enamel.  He  accosted  the  damsel 
after  a very  gallant  manner,  and  told  her, 
* Madam,  you  need  not  to  consult  your  glass  to 
adorn  yourself  to-day  ; you  may  see  the  great- 
ness of  your  beauty  in  the  number  of  your  con- 
quests.’* She  having  never  heard  any  compli- 

* Vide  Fontenelle. 


ment  so  polite,  could  give  him  no  answer,  but  ^ 
presented  the  pipe.  He  applied  it  to  his  lips, 
and  began  a tune  which  he  set  off  with  so  many 
graces  and  quavers,  that  the  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  (who  had  paired  themselves  in 
order  to  dance)  could  not  follow  it ; as  indeed 
it  required  great  skill  and  regularity  of  steps, 
which  they  had  never  been  bred  to.  Menalcas 
ordered  him  to  be  stripped  of  his  costly  robes, 
and  to  be  clad  in  a russet  weed,  and  confined 
him  to  tend  the  flocks  in  the  vallies  for  a year 
and  a day. 

The  second  that  appeared  was  in  a very  dif-  i 
ferent  garb.  He  was  clothed  in  a garment  of  ^ 
rough  goat-skins,  his  hair  was  matted,  his  beard  ( 
neglected  ; in  his  person  uncouth,  and  awkward  j 
in  his  gait.  He  came  up  fleering  to  the  nymph, 
and  told  her,  ‘ he  had  hugged  his  lambs,  and 
kissed  his  young  kids,  but  he  hoped  to  kiss  one  i 
that  was  sweeter.’*  The  fair  one  blushed  with  i 
modesty  and  anger,  and  prayed  secretly  against  i 
him  as  she  gave  him  the  pipe.  He  snatched  it  i 
from  her,  but  with  some  difficulty  made  it 
sound ; which  was  in  such  harsh  and  jarring 
notes,  that  the  shepherds  cried  one  and  all  that 
he  understood  no  music.  He  was  immediately 
ordered  to  the  most  craggy  parts  of  Arcadia,  to 
keep  the  goats,  and  commanded  never  to  touch 
a pipe  any  more. 

The  third  that  advanced  appeared  in  clothes 
that  were  so  strait  and  uneasy  to  him,  that  he 
seemed  to  move  with  pain.  He  marched  up  to 
the  maiden  with  a thoughtful  look  and  stately 
pace,,and  said,  ‘ Divine  Amaryllis,  you  wear  not 
those  roses  tq  frtiprove  your  beauty,  but  to  make 
them  ashamed.’t  As  she  did  not  comprehend 
his  meaning,  she  presented  the  instrument  with- 
out reply.  The  tune  that  he  played  was  so  in- 
tricate and  perplexing,  that  the  shepherds  stood 
stock-still,  like  people  astonished  and  confound- 
ed. In  vain  did  he  plead  that  it  was  the  perfec- 
tion of  music,  and  composed  by  the  most  skilful 
master  in  Hesperia.  Menalcas,  finding  that  he 
was  a stranger,  hospitably  took  compassion  on 
him,  and  delivered  him  to  an  old  shepherd,  who 
was  ordered  to  get  him  clothes  that  would  fit 
him,  and  teach  him  to  speak  plain. 

The  fourth  that  stepped  forwards  was  young 
Amyntas,  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  Arcadian 
swains,  and  secretly  beloved  by  Amaryllis.  He 
wore  that  day  the  same  colours  as  the  maid  for 
whom  he  sighed.  He  moved  towards  her  with 
an  eas}^  but  unassured  air  : she  blushed  as  he 
came  near  her,  and  when  she  gave  him  the 
fatal  present,  they  both  trembled,  but  neither 
could  speak.  Having  secretly  breathed  his  vows 
to  the  gods,  he  poured  forth  such  melodious 
notes,  that  though  they  were  a little  wild  and 
irregular,  they  filled  every  heart  with  delight. 
The  swains  immediately  mingled  in  the  dance  ; 
and  the  old  shepherds  affirmed,  that  they  had 
often  heard  such  music  by  nigd^  which  they 
imagined  to  be  played  by  some  orlbe  rural  dei- 
ties. The  good  old  man  leaped  from  his  throne, 
and,  after  he  had  embraeed  him,  presented  him 
to  his  daughter,  which  caused  a general  accla- 
mation 

While  they  were  in  the  midst  of  their  joy, 
they  were  surprised  with  a very  odd  appearance. 

* Vide  Theocritus.  t Vide  Tasso. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


49 


f Nd.  33.] 

I A person  in  a blue  mantle,  crowned  with  sedges 
^ and  rushes,  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the  ring. 
He  had  an  angling  rod  in  his  hand,  a pannier 
upon  his  bcack,  and  a poor  meagre  wretch  in  wet 
I clotlies  carried  some  oysters  before  him.  Being 
i asked,  whence  he  came,  and  what  he  was  ? He 
told  them,  he  was  come  to  invite  Amaryllis  from 
the  plains  to  the  sea-shore,  that  his  substance 
I consisted  in  sea-calves,  and  that  he  was  acquaint- 
I ed  with  the  Nereids  and  tlie  Naiads.  ‘ Art  thou 
acquainted  with  the  Naiads?’  said  Menalcas  : 
* to  them  then  shalt  thou  return.’  The  shepherds 
ij  immediately  hoisted  him  up  as  an  enemy  to 
' Arcadia,  and  plunged  him  in  the  river,  where  he 
' sunk,  and  was  never  heard  of  since. 

Amyntas  and  Amaryllis  lived  a long  and 
happy  life,  and  governed  the  vales  of  Arcadia. 
Their  generation  was  very  long-lived,  there 
having  been  but  four  descents  in  above  two 
thousand  years.  His  heir  was  called  Theo- 
critus, who  left  his  dominions  to  Virgil ; Virgil 
left  his  to  his  son  Spenser  ; and  Spenser  was 
succeeded  by  his  eldest-born.  Philips. 


No.  33.]  Saturday,  April  18,  1713. 

Dignum  sapiente,  bonoque  est. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  iv.  5. 

Worthy  a wise  man,  and  a good. 

I HAVE  made  it  a rule  to  myself,  not  to  publish 
any  thing  on  a Saturday,  but  what  shall  have 
some  analogy  to  the  duty  of  the  day  ensuing. 
It  is  an  unspeakable  pleasure  to  me,  that  I have 
lived  to  see  the  time  when  I can  observe  such  a 
law  to  myself,  and  yet  turn  my  discourse  upon 
what  is  done  at  the  playhouse.  I am  sure  the 
reader  knows  I am  going  to  mention  the  tra- 
gedy of  Cato.  The  principal  character  is  moved 
by  no  consideration  but  respect  to  that  sort  of 
virtue,  the  sense  of  which  is  retained  in  our 
language  under  the  word  Public  Spirit.  All  re- 
gards to  his  domestic  are  wholly  laid  aside,  and 
the  hero  is  drawn  as  having  by  this  motive,  sub- 
dued instinct  itself,  and  taking  comfort  from  the 
distresses  of  his  family,  which  are  brought  upon 
them  by  their  adherence  to  the  cause  of  truth 
and  liberty.  There  is  nothing  uttered  by  Cato 
but  what  is  worthy  the  best  of  men ; and  the 
sentiments  which  are  given  him  are  not  only 
the  most  warm  for  the  conduct  of  this  life,  but 
such  as  we  may  think  will  not  need  to  be  erased, 
but  consist  with  the  happiness  of  the  human 
soul  in  the  next.  This  illustrious  character  has 
its  proper  influence  on  all  below  it : the  other 
virtuous  personages  are,  in  their  degree,  as 
worthy,  and  as  exemplary,  as  the  principal ; the 
conduct  of  the  lovers  (who  are  more  warm, 
though  more  discreet,  than  ever  yet  appeared 
on  the  stage)  has  in  it  a constant  sense  of  the 
great  catastrophe  which  was  expected  from  the 
approach  of  Caesar.  But  to  see  the  modesty  of 
a heroine,  whose  country  and  family  were  at  the 
same  time  in  the  most  imminent  danger,  pre- 
served, while  she  breaks  out  into  the  most  fond 
and  open  expressions  of  her  passion  for  her 
lover,  is  an  instance  of  no  common  addr,ess. 
Again,  to  observe  the  body  of  a gallant  young 
man  brought  before  us,  who,  in  the  bloom  of  his 
youth,  in  the  defence  of  ail  tliat  is  good  and 


great,  had  received  numberless  wounds  : I say, 
to  observe  that  this  dead  youth  is  introduced 
only  for  the  example  of  his  virtue,  and  that  his 
death  is  so  circiunstantiated,  that  we  are  satis- 
fied, for  all  his  virtue,  it  was  for  the  good  of  the 
world,  and  his  own  family,  that  his  w’arm  tem- 
per was  not  to  be  put  upon  farther  trial,  but  his 
task  of  life  ended  while  it  was  yet  virtuous,  is 
an  employment  worthy  the  consideration  of  our 
young  Britons.  We  are  obliged  to  authors,  that  , 
can  do  what  they  will  wuth  us,  that  they  do  not" 
play  our  aftections  and  passions  against  our- 
selves; but  to  make  us  so  soon  resigned  to  the 
death  of  Marcus,  of  whom  we  were  so  fond,  is  a 
power  that  would  be  unfortunately  lodged  in  a 
man  without  the  love  of  virtue. 

Were  it  not  that  I speak,  on  this  occasion, 
rather  as  a Guardian  than  a critic,  I could  pro- 
ceed to  the  examination  of  the  justness  of  each 
character,  and  take  notice  that  the  Numidian  is 
as  welt  drawn  as  the  Roman.  There  is  not  an 
idea  in  all  the  part  of  Syphax  which  does  not 
apparently  arise  from  the  habits  which  grow  in 
the  mind  of  an  African ; and  the  scene  between 
Juba  and  liis  general,  where  they  talk  for  and 
against  a liberal  education,  is  full  of  instruction. 
Syphax  urges  all  that  can  be  said  against  phi- 
losophy, as  it  is  made  subservient  to  ill  ends,  by 
men  who  abuse  their  talents  ; and  Juba  sets  the 
less  excellencies  of  activity,  labour,  patience  of 
hunger,  and  strength  of  body,  which  are  the 
admired  qualifications  of  a Numidian,  in  their 
proper  subordination  to  the  accomplishments  of 
the  mind.  But  this  play  is  so  well  recommended 
by  others,  that  I will  not  for  that,  and  some  pri- 
vate  reasons,  enlarge  any  farther.  Doctor  Garth 
has  very  agreeably  rallied  the  mercenary  traffic 
between  men  and  women  of  this  age,  in  the 
epilogue,  by  Mrs.  Porter,  who  acted  Lucia. 
And  Mr.  Pope  has  prepared  the  audience  for  a 
new  scene  of  passion  and  transport  on  a more 
noble  foundation  than  they  have  before  been 
entertained  with,  in  the  prologue.  I shall  take 
the  liberty  to  gratify  the  impatience  of  the  town 
by  inserting  these  two  excellent  pieces,  as 
earnests  of  the  work  itself,  which  will  be 
printed  within  few  days. 

PROLOGUE  TO  CATO,  BY  MR.  POPE. 

SPOKEN  BY  MR.  WILKS. 

To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art. 

To  raise  the  genius  and  to  mend  the  heart ; 

To  make  mankind  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 

Live  o’er  each  scene,  and  be  what  they  behold  ; 

For  this  the  tragic  muse  first  trod  the  stage, 
Commanding  tears  to  stream  thro’  every  a^; 
Tyrants  no  more  their  savage  nature  kept. 

And  foes  to  virtue  wonder'd  how  they  wept. 

Our  author  shuns  by  vulgar  springs  to  move 
The  hero’s  glory,  or  the  virgin’s  love  ; 

In  pitying  love  we  but  our  weakness  show, 

And  wild  ambition  well  deserves  its  woe. 

Here  tears  shall  flow  from  a more  gen’rous  cause, 
Such  tears  as  patriots  shed  for  dying  laws  ; 

He  bids  your  breast  with  ancient  ardour  rise, 

And  calls  forth  Roman  drops  from  British  eyes; 
Virtue  confess’d  in  human  shape  he  draws. 

What  Plato  thought,  and  god-like  Cato  was. 

No  common  object  to  your  sight  displays; 

But  what  with  pleasure  Heaven  itself  surveys, 

A brave  man  struggling  in  the  storms  of  fate. 

And  greatly  falling  with  a falling  state. 

While  Cato  gives  his  little  senate  laws. 

What  bosom  heats  not  in  his  country’s  cause? 

Who  sees  him  act  but  envies  every  deed  ? 

Who  hears  him  groan,  and  does  not  wish  to  bleed  ? 


50 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  34. 


Ev’n  when  proud  Cssar,  'midst  triumplial  cars. 

The  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  pomp  of  wars, 
Ignobly  vain,  and  impotently  great, 

Show’d  Rome  her  Cato’s  figure  drawn  in  state; 

As  her  dead  father’s  rev’rend  image  past, 

Tlie  pomp  was  darken'd,  and  the  day  o’ercast. 

The  triumph  ceas'd— tears  gusli’d  from  ev’ryeye, 

Tlie  world’s  great  victor  passed  unheeded  by; 

Her  last  good  man  dejected  Rome  ador’d. 

And  honour’d  Ccesat’s  less  than  Cato’s  sword. 

Britons  attend  ; be  worth  like  this  approv’d, 

And  show  you  have  tl»e  virtue  to  be  mov’d. 

With  honest  scorti  the  first-fam’d  Cato  view’d 
Rome  learning  arts  from  Greece,  whom  she  subdu’d. 
Our  scene  precariously  subsists  too  long 
On  French  translation  and  Italian  song : 

Uare  to  have  sense  yourselves,  assert  tire  stage, 

Be  Justly  warm’d  with  your  own  native  rage : 

Such  plays  alone  should  please  a British  ear, 

As  Cato’s  self  had  not  disdain’d  to  hear. 

EPILOGUE  TO  CATO,  BY  DR.  GARTH. 

SPOKEN  BY  MRS.  PORTER. 

What  odd  fantastic  things  we  women  do  ! ) 

Who  would  not  listen  when  young  lovers  woo?  V 
What ! die  a maid  yet  have  the  choice  of  two ! ) 

Ladies  are  often  cruel  to  their  cost  : 

To  give  you  pain,  themselves  they  punish  most. 
Vows  of  virginity  should  well  be  weigh’d  ; 

Too  oft  they  ’re  canoel’d,  tho’  in  convents  made. 
Would  you  revenge  such  rash  resolves — you  may  > 

Be  spiteful— and  believe  the  thing  we  say  ; V 

We  hate  you  when  you  ’re  easily  said  Nay.  > 

How  neeciless,  if  you  knew  us,  were  your  tears  ; 

Let  love  have  eyes,  and  beauty  will  have  ears. 

Our  hearts  are  form’d  as  you  yourselves  would  choose, 
Too  proud  to  ask,  too  humble  to  refuse: 

We  give  to  merit,  and  to  wealth  we  sell; 

He  sighs  with  most  success  that  settles  well. 

The  woes  of  wedlock  with  the  joys  we  mix ; 

’Tis  best  repenting  in  a coach  and  six. 

Blame  not  our  conduct,  since  we  but  pursue 
Those  lively  lessons  we  have  learned  from  you  ; 

Your  breasts  no  more  the  fire  of  beauty  warms 
But  wicked  wealth  usunis  the  power  of  charms  : 
What  pains  to  get  the  gaudy  thing  you  hate. 

To  swell  in  show,  and  be  a wretch  in  state ! 

At  plays  you  ogle,  at  the  ring  you  bow  ; 

Ev’n  churches  are  no  sanctuaries  now  : 

There  golden  idols  all  your  vows  receive  : 

She  is  no  goddess  who  has  naught  to  give. 

Oh  may  once  more  the  happy  age  appear. 

When  words  were  artless,  and  the  soul  sincere; 
When  gold  and  grandeur  were  unenvy’d  things. 

And  crowns  less  coveted  than  groves  and  springs. 
Love  then  shall  only  mourn  when  truth  complains. 
And  constancy  feel  transport  in  its  chains; 

Sighs  with  success  their  own  soft  anguish  tell. 

And  eyes  shall  utter  what  the  lips  conceal ; 

Virtue  again  to  his  bright  station  climb, 

And  beauty  fear  no  enemy  but  time: 

The  fair  shall  listen  to  desert  alone. 

And  every  Lucia  find  a Cato’s  son. 


No.  34.]  Monday,  April  20,  1713. 

Mores  multorem  vidit 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  142. 

He  many  men  and  many  manners  saw. 

It  is  a most  vexatious  thing  to  an  old  man, 
who  endeavours  to  square  his  notions  by  reason, 
and  to  talk  from  refleelion  and  experienee,  to 
fall  in  with  a cirele  of  young  ladies  at  their  af- 
ternoon tea-table.  This  happened  very  lately 
to  be  my  fate.  The  conversation,  for  the  first 
half-hour,  was  so  very  rambling,  that  it  is  hard 
to  say  what  was  talked  of,  or  who  spoke  least 
to  the  purpose.  The  various  motions  of  the 
fan,  the  tossings  of  the  head,  intermixed  with 
all  the  pretty  kinds  of  laughter,  made  up  the 
greatest  part  of  the  discourse.  At  last,  this 


I modish  way  of  shining  and  being  witty,  settled 
into  something  like  conversation,  and  the  talk 
ran  upon  ‘ fine  gentlemen.’  From  the  several 
characters  that  were  given,  and  the  exceptions 
that  were  made,  as  this  or  that  gentleman  hap- 
pened to  be  named,  I found  that  a lady  is  not 
difficult  to  be  pleased,  and  that  the  town  swarms 
with  fine  gentlemen.  A nimble  pair  of  heels, 
a smooth  complexion,  a full-bottom  wig,  a laced 
shirt,  an  embroidered  suit,  a pair  of  fringed 
gloves,  a hat  and  feather ; any  one  or  more  of 
these  and  the  like  accomplishments  ennobles  a 
man,  and  raises  him  above  the  vulgar,  in  a fe- 
male imagination.  On  the  contrary,  a modest 
serious  behaviour,  a plain  dress,  a thick  pair  of 
shoes,  a leathern  belt,  a waistcoat  not  lined  with 
silk,  and  such  like  imperfections,  degrade  a 
man,  and  are  so  many  blots  in  his  escutcheon. 

I could  not  forbear  smiling  at  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest  and  liveliest  of  this  gay  assembly,  who 
excepted  to  the  gentility  of  sir  William  Hearty, 
because  he  wore  a frieze  coat,  and  breakfasted 
upon  toast  and  ale.  I pretended  to  admire  the 
fineness  of  her  taste  ; and  to  strike  in  with  her 
in  ridiculing  those  awkward  healthy  gentlemen 
that  seem  to  make  nourishment  the  chief  end 
of  eating.  I gave  her  an  account  of  an  honest 
Yorkshire  gentleman,  who  (when  I was  a 
traveller)  used  to  invite  his  acquaintance  at 
Paris  to  break  their  fast  with  him  upon  cold 
roast  beef  and  mum.  There  was,  I remember, 
a little  French  marquis,  who  was  often  pleased 
to  rally  him  unmercifully  upon  beef  and  pudding, 
of  which  our  countryman  would  despatch  a 
pound  or  two  with  great  alacrity,  while  his  an- 
tagonist  was  piddling  at  a mushroom,  or  the 
haunch  of  a frog.  I could  perceive  the  lady 
was  pleased  with  what  I said,  and  we  parted 
very  good  friends,  by  virtue  of  a maxim  I al- 
ways observe.  Never  to  contradict  or  reason 
with  a sprightly  female.  I went  home,  however,  ^ 
full  of  a great  many  serious  reflections  upon  { 
what  had  passed,  and  though,  in  complaisance  i 
I disguised  my  sentiments,  to  keep  up  the  good  ’ 
humour  of  my  fair  companions,  and  to  avoid  i 
being  looked  upon  as  a testy  old  fellow,  yet  out  i 
of  the  good-will  I bear  to  the  sex,  and  to  pre- 
vent for  the  future  their  being  imposed  upon  by 
counterfeits,  I shall  give  them  the  distinguish- 
ing marks  of  ‘ a true  fine  gentleman.’ 

When  a good  artist  would  express  any  re- 
markable character  in  sculpture,  he  endeavours 
to  work  up  his  figure  into  all  the  perfections 
his  imagination  can  form ; and  to  imitate  not 
so  much  what  is,  as  what  may  or  ought  to  be. 

I shall  follow  their  example,  in  the  idea  I am 
going  to  trace  out  of  a fine  gentleman,  by  as- 
sembling together  sueh  qualifications  as  seem 
requisite  to  make  the  character  complete.  In 
order  to  this  I shall  premise  in  general,  that  by 
a fine  gentleman  I mean  a man  completely 
qualified  as  well  for  the  service  and  good,  as  for 
the  ornament  and  delight  of  society.  When  I 
consider  the  frame  of  mind  peculiar  to  a gentle- 
man, I suppose  it  graced  with  all  the  dignity 
and  elevation  of  spirit  that  human  nature  is 
capable  of.  To  this  I would  have  joined  a clear 
understanding,  a reason  free  from  prejudice,  a 
steady  judgment,  and  an  extensive  knowledge. 
When  I think  of  the  heart  of  a gentleman,  I 


No.  35.] 


THE  GUARDIAN 


51 


imagine  it  firm  and  intrepid,  void  of  all  inordi- 
nate passions,  and  full  of  tenderness,  compas- 
sion, and  benevolence.  When  1 view  the  fine 
gentleman  with  regard  to  his  manners,  me- 
thinks  I see  him  modest  without  basiifnlness, 
frank  and  atfablc  witliout  impertinence,  obliging 
and  complaisant  without  servility,  cheerful  and 
in  good  humour  without  noise.  Tiiese  amiable 
qualities  are  not  easily  obtained ; neither  are 
there  many  men  that  liave  a genius  to  excel 
this  way.  A finished  gentleman  is  perhaps  the 
most  uncommon  of  all  the  great  characters  in 
life.  Besides  the  natural  endowments  with 
v/hich  this  distinguished  man  is  to  be  born,  he 
must  run  through  a long  series  of  education. 
Before  be  makes  his  appearance  and  shines  in 
the  world,  he  must  be  principled  in  religion,  in- 
structed in  all  the  moral  virtues,  and  led  through 
the  whole  course  of  the  polite  arts  and  sciences. 
He  should  be  no  stranger  to  courts  and  to  camps; 
he  must  travel  to  open  his  mind,  to  enlarge  his 
views,  to  learn  the  policies  and  interests  of 
foreign  states,  as  well  as  to  fashion  and  polish 
himself’  and  to  get  clear  of  national  prejudices, 
of  which  every  country  has  its  share.  To  all 
these  more  essential  improvements,  he  must 
not  forget  to  add  the  fashionable  ornaments  of 
life,  such  as  are  the  languages  and  the  bodily 
exercises  most  in  vogue ; neither  would  I have 
him  think  even  dress  itself  beneath  his  notice. 

It  is  no  very  uncommon  thing  in  the  world 
to  meet  with  men  of  probity  ; there  are  like- 
wise a great  many  men  of  honour  to  be  found. 
Men  of  courage,  men  of  sense,  and  men  of  let- 
ters are  frequent;  but  a true  fine  gentleman  is 
what  one  seldom  sees.  He  is  properly  a com- 
pound of  the  various  good  qualities  that  embel- 
lish mankind.  As  the  great  poet  animates  all 
the  different  parts  of  learning  by  the  force  of 
his  genius,  and  irradiates  all  the  compass  of  his 
knowledge  by  the  lustre  and  brightness  of  his 
imagination ; so  all  the  great  and  solid  perfec- 
tions of  life  appear  in  the  finished  gentleman, 
with  a beautiful  gloss  and  varnish  ; every  thing 
he  says  or  does  is  aceompanied  with  a manner 
or  rather  a charm,  that  draws  the  admiration 
and  good-will  of  every  beholder. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

For  the  benejit  of  my  female  readers. 

N.  B.  The  gilt  chariot,  the  diamond  ring,  the 
gold  snuff-box,  and  brocade  sword-knot,  are  no 
essential  parts  of  a fine  gentleman ; but  may  be 
used  by  him,  provided  he  casts  his  eye  upon 
them  but  once  a-day. 


No.  35.]  Tuesday,  April  21,  1713. 

O vitae  Philosophia  dux,  virtutis  indagatrix  ! Cicero. 

0 philosophy,  thou  guide  of  life,  and  discoverer  of  virtue. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘ Sir, — I am  a man  who  have  spent  great  part 
of  that  time  in  rambling  through  foreign  coun- 
tries which  young  gentlemen  usually  pass  at 
the  university  ; by  which  course  of  life,  although 

1 have  acquired  no  small  insight  into  the  man- 


ners and  conversation  of  men,  yet  I could  not 
make  proportionable  advances  in  the  way  of 
science  and  speculation.  In  my  return  through 
France,  as  I was  one  day  setting  forth  this  my 
case  to  a certain  gentleman  of  that  nation,  with 
whom  I had  contracted  a friendship  ; after  some 
pause,  he  conducted  me  into  his  closet,  and 
opening  a little  amber  cabinet,  took  from  tlienee 
a small  box  of  snuff,  which  he  said  was  given 
him  by  an  uncle  of  his,  the  author  of  The  Voy- 
age to  the  World  of  Descartes  ; and,  with  many 
professions  of  gratitude  and  affection,  made  me 
a present  of  it,  telling  me,  at  the  same  time, 
that  he  knew  no  readier  way  to  furnish  and 
adorn  a mind  with  knowledge  in  the  arts  and 
sciences,  than  that  same  snuff  rightly  applied. 

“ You  must  know,”  said  he,  “ that  Descartes 
was  the  first  who  discovered  a certain  part  of 
the  brain,  called  by  anatomists  the  Pineal 
Gland,  to  be  the  immediate  receptacle  of  the 
soul,  where  she  is  affected  with  all  sorts  of  per- 
ceptions, and  exerts  all  her  operations  by  the 
intercourse  of  the  animal  spirits  whieh  run 
through  the  nerves  that  are  thenee  extended  to 
all  parts  of  the  body.”  He  added,  “ that  the 
same  philosopher  having  considered  the  body  as 
a machine,  or  piece  of  clock-work,  which  per- 
formed all  the  vital  operations  without  the  con- 
currence of  the  will,  began  to  think  a way  may 
be  found  out  for  separating  the  soul  for  some 
time  from  the  body,  without  any  injury  to  the 
latter  ; and  that,  after  much  meditation  on  that 
subject,  the  above-mentioned  virtuoso  composed 
the  snuff  he  then  gave  me  ; which,  if  taken  in  a 
certain  quantity,  would  not  fail  to  disengage 
my  soul  from  my  body.  Your  soul  (continued 
he)  being  at  liberty  to  transport  herself  with  a 
thought  wherever  she  pleases,  may  enter  into 
the  pineal  gland  of  tlie  most  learned  philosopher, 
and  being  so  placed,  become  spectator  of  all  the 
ideas  in  his  mind,  which  would  instruct  her  in 
a much  less  time  than  the  usual  methods.”  I 
returned  him  thanks,  and  aceepted  his  present, 
and  with  it  a paper  of  directions. 

‘ You  may  imagine  it  was  no  small  improve- 
ment and  diversion,  to  pass  my  time  in  the 
pineal  glands  of  philosophers,  poets,  beaux,  ina- 
thematieians,  ladies,  and  statesmen.  One  while 
to  trace  a theorem  in  mathematics  through  a 
long  labyrinth  of  intricate  turns,  and  subtleties 
of  thought ; another  to  be  conscious  of  the  sub- 
lime ideas  and  comprehensive  views  of  a phi- 
losopher, without  any  fatigue  or  wasting  of  my 
own  spirits.  Sometimes  to  wander  through 
perfumed  groves,  or  enameled  meadows,  in  the 
fancy  of  a poet ; at  others  to  be  present  when  a 
battle  or  a storm  raged,  or  a glittering  palace 
rose  in  his  imagination;  or  to  behold  the  plea- 
sures of  a country  life,  the  passion  of  a generous 
love,  or  the  warmth  of  devotion  wrought  up  to 
rapture.  Or  (to  use  the  words  of  a very  inge- 
nious author)  to 

‘ Behold  the  raptures  which  a writer  knows, 

When  in  his  breast  a vein  of  fancy  glows, 

Beliold  his  business  while  he  works  the  mine. 

Behold  his  temper  when  he  sees  it  shine.’ 

Essay  on  the  different  Styles  of  Poetry. 

‘ These  gave  me  inconceivable  pleasure.  Nor 
was  it  an  unpleasant  entertainment,  sometimes 
to  descend  from  these  sublime  and  magnificent 
ideas  to  the  impertinences  of  a beau,  the  dry 


52 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No  36. 


schemes  of  a coffee-house  politician,  or  the  ten- 
der images  in  the  mind  of  a young  lady.  And, 
as  in  order  to  frame  a right  idea  of  human  hap- 
piness, I thought  it  expedient  to  make  a trial 
of  the  various  manners  wherein  men  of  differ- 
ent pursuits  were  affected,  I one  day  entered 
into  the  pineal  gland  of  a certain  person,  who 
seemed  very  fit  to  give  me  an  insight  into  all 
that  which  constitutes  the  happiness  of  him  who 
is  called  a Man  of  Pleasure.  But  I found  my- 
self not  a little  disappointed  in  my  notion  of  the 
pleasures  which  attend  a voluptuary,  who  has 
shaken  off  the  restraints  of  reason. 

‘His  intellectuals,  I observed,  were  grown 
unserviceable  by  too  little  use,  and  his  senses 
were  decayed  and  worn  out  by  too  much.  That 
perfect  inaction  of  the  higher  powers  prevented 
appetite  in  prompting  him  to  sensual  gratifica- 
tions ; and  the  outrunning  natural  appetite  pro- 
duced a loathing  instead  of  a pleasure.  I there 
beheld  the  intemperate  cravings  of  youth,  with- 
out the  enjoyments  of  it ; and  the  weakness  of 
old  age,  without  its  tranquillity.  When  the 
passions  were  teazed  and  roused  by  some  pow- 
erful object,  the  effect  was  not  to  delight  or 
sooth  the  mind,  but  to  torture  it  between  the 
returning  extremes  of  appetites,  and  satiety.  .1 
saw  a wretch  racked  at  the  same  time,  with  a 
painful  remembrance  of  past  miscarriages,  a 
distaste  of  the  present  objects  that  solicit  his 
senses,  and  a secret  dread  of  futurity.  And  I 
could  see  no  manner  of  I’elief  or  comfort  in  the 
soul  of  this  miserable  man,  but  what  consisted 
in  preventing  his  cure,  by  inflaming  his  pas- 
sions, and  suppressing  his  reason.  But  though 
it  must  be  owned  he  had  almost  quenched  that 
light  which  his  Creator  had  set  up  in  his  soul, 
yet,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  I observed  at  cer- 
tain seasons  frequent  flashes  of  remorse  strike 
through  the  gloom,  and  interrupt  that  satisfac- 
tion he  enjoyed  in  hiding  his  own  deformities 
from  himself. 

‘ I was  also  present  at  the  original  formation 
or  production  of  a certain  book  in  the  mind  of  a 
free-thinker,  and  believing  it  may  not  be  unac- 
ceptable to  let  you  into  the  secret  manner  and 
internal  principles  by  which  that  phenomenon 
was  formed,  I shall  in  mj'^  next  give  you  an  ac- 
count of  it.  I am,  in  the  mean  time,  your  most 
obedient  humble  servant, 

‘ ULYSSES  COSMOPOLITA.’ 

N.  B.  Mr.  Ironside  has  lately  received  out  of 
France  ten  pounds  avoirdupois  weight  of  this 
philosophical  snuff,  and  gives  notice  that  he  will 
make  use  of  it,  in  order  to  distinguish  the  real 
from  the  professed  sentiments  of  all  persons  of 
eminence  in  court,  city,  town,  and  country. 


No.  36.]  Wednesday,  April  22,  1713. 

Punica  se  quantis  atlollct  gloria  rebus ! 

Virg.  iEn.  iv.  49. 

What  rebus’s  exalt  the  punnic  fame  ! 

The  gentleman  who  doth  me  the  favour  to 
write  the  following  letter,  saith  as  much  for  him- 
self as  the  thing  will  bear.  I am  particularly 
pleased  to  find,  that  in  his  Apology  for  Punning 


he  only  celebrates  the  art,  as  it  is  a part  of  con- 
versation.  I look  upon  premeditated  quibbles, 
and  puns  committed  to  the  press,  as  unpardon- 
able crimes.  There  is  as  much  difference  be- 
twixt these  and  the  starts  in  common  discourse, 
as  betwixt  casual  rencounters,  and  murder  with 
malice  prepense. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘ Sir, — I have  from  your  writings  conceived 
such  an  opinion  of  your  benevolence  to  mankind, 
that  I trust  you  will  not  suffer  any  art  to  be 
vilified  which  helps  to  polish  and  adorn  us.  I 
do  not  know  any  sort  of  wit  that  hath  been  used 
so  reproachfully  as  the  Pun : and  I persuade 
myself  that  I shall  merit  your  esteem,  by  re- 
commending it  to  your  protection ; since  there 
can  be  no  greater  glory  to  a generous  soul,  than 
to  succour  the  distrest.  I shall,  therefore,  with- 
out farther  preface,  offer  to  your  consideration 
the  following  Modest  Apology  for  Punning; 
wherein  I shall  make  use  of  no  double  meanings 
or  equivocations : since  I think  it  unnecessary 
to  give  it  any  other  praises  than  truth  and  com- 
mon sense,  its  professed  enemies  are  forced  to 
grant. 

‘ In  order  to  make  this  a useful  work,  I sliall 
state  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  pun,  I shall  \ 

discover  the  advantages  that  flow  fi-om  it,  the  | 

moral  virtues  that  it  produces,  and  the  tendency  ! 
that  it  hath  to  promote  vigour  of  body  and  ease  i 
of  mind, 

‘ The  pun  is  defined  by  one,  who  seems  to  be  ( 
no  well-wisher  to  it,  to  be  “ A conceit  arising 
from  the  use  of  two  words  that  agree  in  the  i 
sound,  but  differ  in  the  sense.”  Now  if  this  be 
the  essence  of  the  pun,  how  great  must  we  allow 
the  dignity  of  it  to  be,  when  we  consider  that  it 
lakes  in  most  of  the  considerable  parts  of  learn- 
ing ; for  is  it  not  most  certain,  that  all  learned 
disputes  are  rather  about  sounds  than  sense  ? 

Are  not  the  controversies  of  divines  about  the 
different  interpretations  of  terms  ? Are  not  the 
disputations  of  philosophers  about  words,  and 
all  their  pompous  distinctions  only  so  many  un- 
ravellings  of  double  meanings  ? Who  ever  lost 
his  estate  in  Westminster-hall,  but  complained 
that  he  was  quibbled  out  of  his  right  ? or  what 
monarch  ever  broke  a treaty,  but  by  virtue  of 
equivocation  ? In  short,  so  great  is  the  excel- 
lence of  this  art,  so  diffusive  its  influence,  that 
when  I go  into  a library,  I say  to  myself,  “ What 
volumes  of  puns  do  I behold  !”  When  I look 
upon  the  men  of  business,  I cry  out,  “ How  pow- 
erful is  the  tribe  of  the  quibblers  !”  When  I see 
statesmen  and  ambassadors,  I reflect,  “ How 
splendid  the  equipage  of  the  quirk!  in  what 
pomp  do  the  punsters  appear  !” 

‘ But  as  there  are  serious  puns,  such  as  I have 
instanced  in,  so  likewise  there  are  puns  comical. 
These  are  what  I would  recommend  to  my 
countrymen ; which  I shall  do  by  displaying 
the  advantages  flowing  from  them. 

‘ The  first  advantage  of  punning  is,  that  it 
gives  us  the  compass  of  our  own  language.  This 
is  very  obvious.  For  the  great  business  of  the 
punster  is  to  hunt  out  the  several  words  in  our 
tongue  that  agree  in  sound,  and  have  various 
significations.  By  this  means  he  will  likewise 
enter  into  the  nicety  of  spelling,  an  accomplish- 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


No.  37.] 

nient  regarded  only  by  middling  people,  and 
much  neglected  by  persons  of  great  and  no  qua- 
j lity.  This  error  may  produce  unnecessary  fo- 
‘ lios  amongst  grammarians  yet  unborn.  But  to 
proceed.  A man  of  learning  hath,  in  this  man- 
ner of  wit,  great  advantages ; as  indeed,  what 
advantages  do  not  flow  from  learning  ? If  the 
pun  fails  in  English,  he  may  have  speedy  re- 
course to  the  Latin,  or  the  Greek,  and  so  on.  I 
have  known  wonders  performed  by  this  secret. 

I have  heard  the  French  assisted  by  the  Ger- 
man, the  Dutch  mingle  with  the  Italian,  and 
where  the  jingle  hath  seemed  desperate  in  the 
Greek,  I have  known  it  revive  in  the  Hebrew. 
My  friend  Dick  Babel  hath  often,  to  show  his 
parts,  started  a conceit  at  the  equinoctial,  and 
pursued  it  through  all  the  degrees  of  latitude ; 
and,  after  he  had  punned  round  the  globe,  hath 
sat  down  like  Alexander,  and  mourned  that  he 
had  no  more  worlds  to  conquer. 

‘ Another  advantage  in  punning  is,  that  it 
ends  disputes,  or,  what  is  all  one,  puns  comical 
destroy  puns  serious.  Any  man  that  drinks  a 
bottle  knows  very  well,  that  about  twelve,  peo- 
ple that  do  not  kiss,  or  cry,  are  apt’  to  debate. 
This  often  occasions  heats  and  heart-burnings, 
unless  one  of  the  disputants  vouchsafes  to  end 
the  matter  with  a joke.  How  often  have  Aris- 
totle and  Cartesius  been  reconciled  by  a merry 
conceit ! how  often  have  whigs  and  tories  shook 
hands  over  a quibble  ! and  the  clashing  of  swords 
1 been  prevented  by  the  jingling  of  words ! 

‘ Attention  of  mind  is  another  benefit  enjoyed 
by  punsters.  This  is  discoverable  from  the  per- 
petual gape  of  the  company  where  they  are,  and 
' the  earnest  desire  to  know  what  was  spoken 
last,  if  a word  escapes  any  one  at  the  table.  I 
must  add,  that  quick  apprehension  is  required 
in  the  hearer,  readily  to  take  some  things  which 
are  very  far-fetched ; as  likewise  great  vivacity 
in  the  performer,  to  reconcile  distant  and  even 
hostile  ideas  by  the  mere  mimicry  of  words,  and 
energy  of  sound. 

‘ Mirth  or  good-humour  is  the  last  advantage, 
that,  out  of  a million,  I shall  produce  to  recom- 
mend punning.  But  this  will  more  naturally 
fall  in  when  I come  to  demonstrate  its  operation 
upon  the  mind  and  body.  I shall  now  discover 
what  moral  virtues  it  promotes ; and  shall  con- 
tent myself  with  instancing  in  those  which 
every  reader  will  allow  of. 

‘ A punster  is  adorned  with  humility.  This 
our  adversaries  will  not  deny ; because  they  hold 
it  to  be  a condescension  in  any  man  to  trifle,  as 
they  arrogantly  call  it,  with  words.  I must, 
however,  confess,  for  my  own  share,  I never 
punned  out  of  the  pride  of  my  heart,  nor  did  I 
ever  know  one  of  our  fraternity,  that  seemed  to 
be  troubled  with  the  thirst  of  glory. 

‘ The  virtue  called  urbanity  by  the  moralists, 
or  a courtly  behaviour,  is  much  cultivated  by 
this  science.  For  the  whole  spirit  of  urbanity 
consists  in  a desire  to  please  the  company,  and 
what  else  is  the  design  of  the  punster  ? Accord- 
ingly wc  find  such  bursts  of  laughter,  such  agi- 
tations of  the  sides,  such  contortions  of  the  limbs, 
such  earnest  attempts  to  recover  the  dying  laugh, 
such  transport  in  the  enjoyment  of  it  in  equivo- 
! eating  assemblies,  as  men  of  common  sense  are 
amazed  at,  and  own  they  never  felt. 


‘ But  nothing  more  displays  itself  in  the  pun- 
ster, than  justiee,  the  queen  of  all  the  virtues. 
At  the  quibbling  board  every  performer  hath  its 
due.  The  soul  is  struck  at  once,  and  the  body 
recognizes  the  merit  of  each  joke,  by  sudden 
and  comical  emotions.  Indeed  how  should  it 
be  otherwise,  where  not  only  words  but  even 
syllables  have  justiee  done  them  ; where  no  man 
invades  the  right  of  another,  but,  with  perfect 
innocence  and  good-nature,  takes  as  much  de- 
light in  his  neighbour’s  joy  as  in  his  own  ? 

‘ From  what  hath  been  advanced,  it  will  easi- 
ly appear,  that  this  science  contributes  to  ease 
of  body,  and  serenity  of  mind.  You  have  in  a 
former  precaution,  advised  your  hectical  read- 
ers to  associate  with  those  of  our  brotherhood, 
who  are,  for  the  most  part,  of  a corpulent  make, 
and  a round  vacant  countenance.  It  is  natural 
the  next  morning,  after  a merriment,  to  reflect 
how  we  behaved  ourselves  the  night  before  : and 
I appeal  to  any  one,  whether  it  will  not  occasion 
greater  peace  of  mind  to  consider,  that  he  hath 
only  been  waging  harmless  war  with  words, 
than  if  he  had  stirred  his  brother  to  wrath, 
grieved  the  soul  of  his  neighbour  by  calumny, 
or  increased  his  own  wealth  by  fraud.  As  for 
health  of  body,  I look  upon  punning  as  a nos- 
trum, a Medicina  Gymnastica,  that  throws  off* 
all  the  bad  humours,  and  occasions  such  a brisk 
circulation  of  the  blood,  as  keeps  the  lamp  of 
life  in  a clear  and  constant  flame.  I speak,  as 
all  physicians  ought  to  do,  from  experience.  A 
friend  of  mine,  who  had  the  ague  this  spring, 
was,  after  the  failing  of  several  medicines  and 
charms,  advised  by  me  ^o  enter  into  a course  of 
quibbling.  He  threw  his  electuaries  out  at  his 
window,  and  took  Abracadabra  off*  from  his 
neck,  and  by  the  mere  force  of  punning  upon 
that  long  magical  word,  threw  himself  into  a 
fine  breathing  sweat,  and  a quiet  sleep.  He  is 
now  in  a fair  way  of  recovery,  and  says  plea- 
santly, he  is  less  obliged  to  the  Jesuits  for  their 
powder,  than  for  their  equivocation. 

‘ Sir,  this  is  my  Modest  Apology  for  Punning  y 
which  I was  the  more  encouraged  to  undertake, 
because  we  have  a learned  university  where  it 
is  in  request,  and  I am  told  that  a famous  club 
hath  given  it  protection.  If  this  meets  with  en- 
couragement, I shall  write  a vindication  of  the 
rebus,  and  do  justice  to  the  conundrum.  I have 
indeed  looked  philosophically  into  their  natures, 
and  made  a sort  of  Arbor  Porphyriana  of  the 
several  subordinations  and  divisions  of  low  wit. 
This  the  ladies  perhaps  may  not  understand ; 
but  I shall  thereby  give  the  beau  an  opportunity 
of  showing  their  learning.  I am,  sir,  with  great 
respect,  your  most  obedient  humble  servant.’ 


No.  37.]  Thursday,  April  23,  1713. 

Me  dace  dainnosas  homines  compescite  curas. 

Ovid.  Rem.  Amor.  ver.  69. 

Learn,  mortals,  from  my  precepts  to  controul 
The  furious  passions  that  disturb  the  soul. 

It  is  natural  for  an  old  man  to  be  fond  of 
such  entertainments  as  revive  in  his  imagina- 
tion the  agreeable  impressions  made  upon  it  in 
5* 


54 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  37. 


his  youth : the  set  of  wits  and  beauties  he  was 
first  acquainted  with,  the  balls  and  drawing- 
rooms in  which  he  made  an  agreeable  figure, 
the  music  and  actors  he  heard  and  saw  when 
his  life  was  fresh,  and  his  spirits  vigorous  and 
quick,  have  usually  the  preference  in  his  esteem 
to  any  succeeding  pleasures  that  present  them- 
selves when  his  taste  is  grown  more  languid. 
It  is  for  this  reason  I never  see  a picture  of  sir 
Peter  Lely’s,  who  drew  so  many  of  my  first 
friends  and  acquaintance,  without  a sensible  de- 
light ; and  I am  in  raptures  when  I reflect  on 
the  compositions  of  the  famous  Mr.  Henry  Laws, 
long  before  Italian  music  was  introduced  into 
our  nation.  Above  all,  I am  pleased  in  observ- 
ing that  the  tragedies  of  Shakspeare,  which  in 
my  youthful  days  have  so  frequently  filled  my 
eyes  with  tears,  hold  their  rank  still,  and  are  the 
great  support  of  our  theatre. 

It  was  with  this  agreeable  prepossession  of 
mind,  I went  some  time  ago,  to  see  the  old  tra- 
gedy of  Othello,  and  took  my  female  wards  with 
me,  having  promised  them  a little  before  to  car- 
ry them  to  the  first  play  of  Shakspeare’s  which 
should  be  acted.  Mrs.  Cornelia  who  is  a great 
reader,  and  never  fails  to  peruse  the  play-bills, 
which  are  brought  to  her  every  jday,  gave  me 
notice  of  it  early  in  the  morning.  When  I came 
to  my  lady  Lizard’s  at  dinner,  I Ibund  the  young 
folks  all  drest,  and  e.xpecting  the  performance 
of  my  promise.  I went  with  them  at  the  pro- 
per time,  placed  them  together  in  the  boxes,  and 
myself  by  them  in  a corner  seat.  As  I have  the 
chief  scenes  of  the  play  by  heart,  I did  not  look 
much  on  the  stage,  but  ft)rmed  to  myself  a new  j 
satisfaction  in  keeping  an  eye  on  the  faces  of  my  | 
little  audience,  and  observing,  as  it  were  by  re-  | 
flection,  the  dilferent  passions  of  the  play  repre-  I 
sented  in  their  countenances.  Mrs.  Betty  told  j 
us  the  names  of  several  persons  of  distinction, 
as  they  took  their  places  in  the  boxes,  and  en- 
tertained us  with  the  history  of  a new  marriage  ! 
or  two  till  the  curtain  drew  up.  I soon  perceived  ! 
that  Mrs.  Jane  was  touched  with  the  love  of  ! 
Desdemona,  and  in  a concern  to  see  how  she  | 
would  come  off  with  her  parents.  Annabella 
had  a rambling  e}'^e,  and  for  some  time  was 
more  taken  up  with  observing  what  gentleman 
looked  at  her,  and  with  criticising  the  dress  of 
the  ladies,  than  with  any  thing  that  passed  on  | 
the  stage.  Mrs.  Cornelia,  who  I have  often  said  ! 
is  addicted  to  the  study  of  romances,  commend- 
ed that  speech  in  the  play  in  which  Othello  men- 
tions his  ‘ hair-breadth  scapes  in  th’  imminent 
deadly  breach,’  and  recites  his  travels  and  ad- 
ventures with  which  he  had  captivated  the  heart 
of  Desdemona.  The  Sparkler  looked  several 
times  frighted ; and  as  the  distress  of  the  play  j 
was  heightened,  their  different  attention  was 
collected,  and  fixed  wholly  on  the  stage,  till  I ' 
saw  them  all  with  a secret  satisfaction,  betrayed  } 
into  tears. 

I have  often  considered  this  play  as  a noble, 
but  irregular,  production  of  a genius  which  had 
the  power  of  animating  the  theatre  beyond  any 
writer  we  have  ever  known.  The  touches  of 
nature  in  it  are  strong  and  masterly  ; but  the 
economy  of  the  fable,  and  in  some  particulars 
the  probability,  are  too  much  neglected.  If  I 
would  speak  of  it  in  the  most  severe  terms,  I 


should  say  as  Waller  does  of  the  Maid’s  Tra. 
gedy, 

‘Great  are  its  faults,  but  glorious  is  its  flame.’ 

But  it  would  be  a poor  employment  in  a critic 
to  observe  upon  the  faults,  and  show  no  taste  for 
the  beauties,  in  a work  that  has  always  struck 
the  most  sensible  part  of  our  audiences'in  a very 
forcible  manner. 

j The  chief  subject  of  this  piece  is  the  passion 
of  jealousy,  which  the  poet  has  represented  at 
krge,  in  its  birth,  its  various  workings  and  ago- 
nies, and  its  horrid  consequences.  From  this 
passion  and  the  innocence  and  simplicity  of  the 
person  suspected,  arises  a very  moving  distress. 

It  is  a remark,  as  I remember,  of  a modern 
writer,  who  is  thought  to  have  penetrated  deepl)^ 
into  the  nature  of  the  passions,  that  ‘ the  most 
extravagant  love  is  nearest  to  the  strongest  ha- 
tred.’ The  Moor  is  furious  in  both  these  ex- 
tremes. His  love  is  tempestuous,  and  mingled 
with  a wildness  peculiar  to  his  character,  which 
seems  very  artfully  to  prepare  for  the  change 
which  is  to  follow. 

How  savage,  yet  how  ardent  is  that  expres- 
sion of  the  raptures  of  his  heart,  when,  looking 
after  Desdemona  as  she  withdraws,  he  breaks 
out, 

‘ Excellent  wretch  ! Perdition  catch  my  soul 
Bui  I do  love  thee ; and  when  I love  thee  not, 
Chaos  is  come  again.’  i 

The  deep  and  subtle  villany  of  lago,  in  work- 
ing this  change  from  love  to  jealousy,  in  so  tu- 
I multuons  a mind  as  that  of  Othello,  pt’epossess- 
j ed  with  a confidence  in  the  disinterested  affec- 
tion of  llie  man  who  is  leading  him  on  insensi- 
I bl}’  to  liis  ruin,  is  likewise  drawn  with  a mas- 
teriy  hand.  lago’s  broken  hints,  questions,  and 
seeming  care  to  hide  the  reason  of  them;  his 
obscure  suggestions  to  raise  the  curiosity  of  the 
Moor  ; his  personated  confusion,  and  refusing  to 
explain  himself  while  Othello  is  drawn  on,  and 
held  in  suspense  till  he  grows  impatient  and  an- 
gry ; then  his  throwing  in  the  poison,  and  nam- 
ing to  him  in  a caution  the  passion  he  would 
raise, 

‘ O beware  of  jealousy ! ’ 

are  inimitable  strokes  of  art,  in  that  scene 
which  has  always  been  justly  esteemed  one  of 
the  best  which  was  ever  represented  on  the  the- 
atre. 

To  return  to  the  character  of  Othello ; his 
strife  of  passions,  his  starts,  his  returns  of  love, 
and  threatenings  to  lago,  who  put  his  mind  on 
the  rack,  his  relapses  afterwards  to  jealousy,  his 
rage  against  his  wife,  and  his  asking  pardon  of 
lago,  whom  he  thinks  he  had  abused  for  his 
fidelity  to  him,  are  touches  which  no  one  can 
overlook  that  has  the  sentiments  of  human 
nature,  or  has  considered  the  heart  of  man  in 
its  frailties,  its  penances,  and  all  the  variety  of 
its  agitations.  The  torments  which  the  Moor 
suffers  are  so  exquisitely  drawn,  as  to  render 
him  as  much  an  object  of  compassion,  even  in 
the  barbarous  action  of  murdering  Desdemona, 
as  the  innocent  person  herself  who  falls  under 
his  hand. 

But  there  is  nothing  in  which  the  poet  has 
more  shown  his  judgment  in  this  play,  than  in 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


No.  38.] 


the  circumstance  of  the  handkerchief,  which  is 
employed  as  a confirmation  to  the  jealousy  of 
Othello  already  raised.  What  I would  here 
observe  is,  that  the  very  slightness  of  this  cir- 
cumstance is  the  beauty  of  it.  How  finely  has 
Shakspeare  expressed  the  nature  of  jealousy  in 
those  lines,  which,  on  this  occasion,  he  puts  into 
the  mouth  of  lago, 

‘ Trifles  light  as  air 
Are  to  the  jealous,  confinnation  strong 
As  proofs  of  holy  writ.’ 

It  would  be  easy  for  a tasteless  critic  to  turn 
any  of  the  beauties  I have  here  mentioned  into 
ridicule : but  such  a one  would  only  betray  a 
mechanical  judgment,  formed  out  of  borrowed 
rules  and  common-place  reading,  and  not  arising 
from  any  true  discernment  in  human  nature, 
and  its  passions. 

As  the  moral  of  this  tragedy  is  an  admirable 
caution  against  hasty  suspicions,  and  the  giving 
way  to  the  first  transports  of  rage  and  jealousy, 
which  may  plunge  a man  in  a few  minutes  into 
all  the  horrors  of  guilt,  distraction,  and  ruin,  I 
shall  further  enforce  it,  by  relating  a scene  of 
misfortunes  of  the  like  kind,  wiiich  really  hap- 
pened some  years  ago  in  Spain  ; and  is  an  in- 
stance of  the  most  tragical  hurricane  of  passion 
I have  ever  met  with  in  history.  It  may  be 
easily  conceived  that  a heart  ever  big  with  re- 
sentments of  its  own  dignity,  and  never  allayed 
by  reflections  which  make  us  honour  ourselves 
for  acting  with  reason  and  equality,  will  take 
fire  precipitantly.  It  will,  on  a sudden,  flame 
too  high  to  be  extinguished.  The  short  story 
I am  going  to  tell  is  a lively  instance  of  the 
truth  of  this  observation,  and  a just  warning  to 
those  of  jealous  honour  to  look  about  them,  and 
begin  to  possess  their  souls  as  they  ought,  for 
no  man  of  spirit  knows  how  terrible  a creature 
he  is,  till  he  comes  to  be  provoked. 

Don  Alonzo,  a Spanish  nobleman,  had  a beau- 
tiful and  virtuous  wife,  with  whom  he  had  lived 
for  some  years  in  great  tranquillity.  The  gen- 
tleman, however,  was  not  free  from  the  faults 
usually  imputed  to  his  nation ; he  was  proud, 
suspicious,  and  impetuous.  He  kept  a Moor 
in  his  house,  whom,  on  a complaint  from  his 
lady,  he  had  punished  for  a small  offence  with 
the  utmost  severity.  The  slave  vowed  revenge, 
and  communicated  his  resolution  to  one  of  the 
lady’s  women  with  whom  he  lived  in  a criminal 
way.  This  creature  also  hated  her  mistress, 
for  she  feared  she  was  observed  by  her  : she 
therefore  undertook  to  make  Don  Alonzo  jeal- 
ous, by  insinuating  that  the  gardener  was  often 
admitted  to  his  lady  in  private,  and  promising 
to  make  him  an  eye-witness  of  it.  At  a proper 
time  agreed  on  between  her  and  the  Morisco, 
she  sent  a message  to  the  gardener,  that  his  lady, 
having  some  hasty  orders  to  give  him,  would  have 
him  come  that  moment  to  her  in  her  chamber. 
In  the  mean  time,  she  had  placed  Alonzo  pri- 
vately in  an  outer  room,  that  he  might  observe 
who  passed  that  way.  It  was  not  long  before 
he  saw  the  gardener  appear.  Alonzo  liad  not 
patience,  but  following  him  into  the  apartment, 
struck  him  at  one  blow  with  a dagger  to  the 
heart ; then  dragging  his  lady  by  the  hair  with- 
out inquiring  farth.er,  he  instanfly  killed  her. 


Here  he  paused,  looking  on  the  dead  bodies 
with  all  the  agitations^bf  a demon  of  revenge  ; 
when  the  wench  who  had  occasioned  these  ter- 
rors, distracted  with  remorse,  threw  her.self  at 
his  feet,  and  in  a voice  of  lamentation,  without 
sense  of  the  consequence,  repeated  all  her  guilt. 
Alonzo  was  overwhelmed  with  all  the  violent 
passions  at  one  instant,  and  uttered  the  broken 
voices  and  motions  of  each  of  them  for  a mo- 
ment, till  at  last  he  recollected  himself  enough 
to  end  his  agony  of  love,  anger,  disdain,  revenge, 
and  remorse,  by  murdering  the  maid,  the  Moor, 
and  himself. 


No,  38.]  Friday,  April  24,  1713, 

Protlire  tenus  si  non  datur  ultra. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  i.  32. 

Thus  far  at  least,  though  here  we  stop. 

I H.VVE  lately  given  a precaution  concerning 
the  difficulty  in  arriving  at  what  ought  to  be 
esteemed  a ‘ fine  gentleman.’  That  character 
has  been  long  wholly  engrossed  by  well-drest 
beaux,  and  men  of  sense  have  given  up  all  pre- 
tence to  it.  The  highest  any  of  them  contend 
for,  is  the  character  of  a ‘ pretty  gentleman ;’  for 
here  the  dress  may  be  more  careless,  and  some 
tvit  is  thought  necessary  ; whereas,  a fine  gen- 
tleman  is  not  obliged  to  converse  further  than 
the  offering  his  snuff-box  round  the  room.  How- 
ever, the  pretty  gentleman  must  have  his  airs : 
and  though  they  are  not  so  pompous  as  those  of 
the  other,  yet  they  are  so  affected,  that  few  who 
have  understanding  can  bring  themselves  to  be 
proficients  this  way,  though  ever  so  useful  to- 
wards being  well  received  ; but  if  they  fail  hei'e, 
they  succeed  with  some  difficulty  in  being  al- 
lowed to  have  ‘ much  of  the  gentleman’  in  them. 
To  obtain  this  epithet,  a man  of  sense  must  ar 
rive  at  a certain  desire  to  appear  more  than  is 
natural  to  him  ; but  as  the  world  goes,  it  is  fit 
he  should  be  encouraged  in  this  attempt,  since 
nothing  can  mend  the  general  taste,  but  setting 
the  true  character  in  as  public  a view  as  the 
false.  This,  indeed,  can  never  be  done  to  the 
purpose,  while  the  majority  is  so  great  on  the 
wrong  side  ; one  of  a hundred  will  have  the 
shout  against  him  ; but  if  people  of  wit  would 
be  as  zealous  to  assist  old  Ironside,  as  he  is  to 
promote  them  and  their  interest,  a little  time 
would  give  these  things  a new  turn.  fJowever, 
I will  not  despair  but  I shall  be  able  to  sum- 
mon all  the  good  sense  in  the  nation  to  my  as- 
sistance, in  my  ambition  to  produce  a new  race 
of  mankind,  to  take  the  places  of  such  as  have 
hitherto  pretended  to  engross  the  fashion.  The 
university  scholar  shall  be  called  upon  to  learn 
his  exercise,  and  frequent  mixt  company ; the 
military,  and  the  travelled  man,  to  read  the  best 
authors;  the  country  gentleman,  to  divide  his 
time,  so  as,  together  with  the  care  of  his  estate, 
to  make  an  equal  progress  in  learning  and  breed- 
ing ; and  when  the  several  candidates  think 
themselves  prepared,  I shall  appoint  under  of- 
ficers to  examine  their  qualifications,  and,  as  I 
am  satisfied  with  their  report,  give  out  my  pass- 
ports recommending  them  to  all  companies  as 


56 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


‘ the  Guardian’s  fine  gentlemen.’  If  my  recom- 
mendations  appear  just,  I will  not  doubt  but 
some  of  the  present  fine  gentlemen  will  see  the 
necessity  of  retirement,  till  they  can  come 
abroad  with  approbation.  I have  indeed  already 
given  out  orders  in  this  behalf,  and  have  directed 
searchers  to  attend  at  the  inns  where  the  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  coaches  stand,  and  commanded 
them  to  bring  any  young  fellow,  of  any  hopes 
in  the  world,  directly  to  my  lodgings  as  soon  as 
he  lands,  for  I will  take  him  though  I know  I 
can  only  make  him  ‘ much  of  a gentleman  for, 
when  I have  gone  thus  far,  one  would  think  it 
should  be  easy  to  make  him  a ‘ gentleman-like 
man.’  As  the  world  now  goes,  we  have  no  ade- 
quate idea  of  what  is  meant  by  ‘ gentlemanly,’ 

‘ gentleman-like,’  or,  ‘ much  of  a gentleman  ;’ 
you  cannot  be  cheated  at  play,  but  it  is  certainly 
done  by  ‘ a very  gentleman-like  man ; you  can- 
not be  deceived  in  your  affairs,  but  it  was  done 
in  some  ‘ gentlemanly  manner  ; you  cannot  be 
wronged  in  your  bed,  but  all  the  world  will  say 
of  him  that  did  the  injury,  it  must  be  allowed 
‘he  is  very  much  of  a gentleman.’  Here  is  a 
very  pleasant  fellow  a correspondent  of  mine, 
that  puts  in  for  that  appellation  even  to  highway- 
men. I must  confess  the  gentleman  he  person- 
ates is  very  apparently  such,  though  I did  not 
look  upon  that  sort  of  fellow  in  that  light,  till  he 
favoured  me  with  his  letter,  which  is  as  follows  : 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — I have  been  upon  the  high- 
way these  six  years,  in  the  Park,  at  the  Play,  at 
Bath,  Tunbridge,  Epsom,  and  at  every  other 
place  where  I could  have  any  prospect  of  steal- 
ing a fortune ; but  have  met  with  no  success, 
being  disappointed  either  by  some  of  your 
damned  Ironside  race,  or  by  old  cursed  curs, 
who  put  more  bolts  on  their  doors  and  bars  in 
their  windows  than  are  in  Newgate.  All  that 
see  me  own  I am  ‘ a gentleman-like  man  ;’  and, 
whatever  rascally  things  the  grave  folks  say  I 
am  guilty  of,  they  themselves  acknowledge  I am 
a ‘ gentlemanly  kind  of  man,’  and  in  every  re- 
spect accomplished  for  running  away  with  a 
lady.  I have  been  bred  up  to  no  business,  am 
illiterate,  have  spent  the  small  fortune  I had  in 
purchasing  favours  from  the  fair  sex.  The 
bounty  of  their  purses  I have  received,  as  well 
as  the  endearments  of  their  persons,  but  I have 
gratefully  disposed  of  it  among  themselves,  for 
I always  was  a keeper  when  I was  kept.  I am 
fearless  in  my  behaviour,  and  never  fail  of  put- 
ting your  bookish  sort  of  fellows,  your  men  of 
merit,  forsooth,  out  of  countenance.  I triumph 
when  I see  a modest  young  woman  blush  at  an 
assembly,  or  a virgin  betrayed  into  tears  at  a 
well-wrought  scene  in  a tragedy.  I have  long 
forgot  shame,  for  it  proceeds  from  a conscious- 
ness of  some  defect ; and  I am,  as  I told  you, 
‘ a gentlemanly  man.’  I never  knew  any  but 
you  musty  philosophers  applaud  blushes,  and 
you  yourselves  will  allow  that  they  are  caused 
either  by  some  real  imperfection,  or  the  appre- 
hension of  defect  where  there  is  not  any  ; but 
for  my  part  I hate  mistakes,  and  shall  not  sus- 
pect myself  wrongfully.  Such  as  I am,  if  you 
approve  of  my  person,  estate,  and  character,  I 
desire  you  would  admit  me  as  a suitor  to  one  of 
the  Lizards,  and  beg  your  speedy  answer  to  this ; 


[No.  39.  if 

for  it  is  the  last  time  my  black  coat  will  bear 
scouring,  or  my  long  wig  buckling.  I am,  sir, 
the  fair  ladies’,  and  your  humble  servant, 

‘ WILL  BAREFACE.’ 

Those  on  the  highway,  who  make  a stand  m 
with  a pistol  at  your  breast  (compelled  perhaps 
by  necessity,  misfortune,  or  driven  out  of  an 
honest  way  of  life,  to  answer  the  wants  of  a 
craving  family,)  are  much  more  excusable  than  i 
those  of  their  fraternity,  who  join  the  converse-  i 
tions  of  gentlemen,  and  get  into  a share  of  their  i 
fortunes  without  one  good  art  about  them.  What  : 
a crowd  of  these  gentleman-like  men  are  about  j 
this  town!  For,  from  an  unjust  modesty,  and  i 
incapacity  for  common  life,  the  ordinary  failings  \ 
of  men  of  letters  and  industry  in  our  nation,  it  i 
happens  that  impudence  suppresses  all  virtue,  i 
and  assumes  the  reward  and  esteem  which  are  | 
due  to  it.  Hence  it  is  that  worthless  rogues  i 
have  the  smiles  of  the  fair,  and  the  favours  of  ' i 
the  great : to  be  well  dressed  and  in  health,  and 
very  impudent,  in  this  licentious  undistinguish- 
ing age,  is  enough  to  constitute  a person  ‘ very 
much  of  a gentleman  ;’  and  to  this  pass  are  we 
come,  by  the  prostitution  of  wit  in  the  cause  of 
vice,  which  has  made  the  most  unreasonable 
and  unnatural  things  prevail  against  all  the 
suggestions  of  common  sense.  Nobody  denies 
that  we  live  in  a Christian  country,  and  yet  he 
who  should  decline,  upon  respective  opportuni- 
ties, to  commit  adultery  or  murder,  would  be 
thought  ‘ very  little  of  a gentleman.’ 


No.  39.]  Saturday,  April  25,  1713. 

JEgri  sorania.  Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  7. 

A sick  man’s  dreams. 

My  correspondent  who  has  acquired  the  fa- 
culty of  entering  into  jother  men’s  thoughts, 
having,  in  pursuance  to  a former  letter,  sent  i 
me  an  account  of  certain  useful  discoveries  he  I 
has  made  by  the  help  of  that  invention,  I shall  ■- 
communicate  the  same  to  the  public  in  this  i 
paper. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — On  the  eleventh  day  of 
October,  in  the  year  1712,  having  left  my  body  : 
locked  up  safe  in  my  stud’%  I repaired  to  the 
Grecian  cotfee-houso,  where,  entering  into  the 
pineal  gland  of  a certain  eminent  free-thinker, 

I made  directly  to  the  highest  part  of  it,  which  . 
is  the  seat  of  the  understanding,  expecting  to  ’ 
find  there  a comprehensive  knowledge  of  all 
things,  human  and  divine ; but  to  my  no  small 
astonishment,  I found  the  place  narrower  than 
ordinary,  insomuch  that  there  was  not  any  room 
for  a miracle,  prophecy,  or  separate  spirit. 

‘ This  obliged  me  to  descend  a story  lower, 
into  the  imagination,  which  I found  larger,  in- 
deed,  but  cold  and  comfortless.  I discovered 
j Prejudice  in  the  figure  of  a woman,  standing 
I in  a corner,  with  her  eyes  close  shut,  and  her 
j fore-fingers  stuck  in  her  ears ; many  words  in 
a confused  order,  but  spoken  with  great  em- 
phasis, issued  from  lier  moutli.  These  being 
i condensed  by  the  coldness  of  the  place,  formed 


No.  39.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


57 


a sort  of  mist,  through  which  methought  I saw  I 
a great  castle  with  a fortification  cast  round  it,  | 
and  a tower  adjoining  to  it,  that  through  the 
windows  appeared  to  be  filled  with  racks  and 
halters.  Beneath  the  castle  I could  discern  vast 
dungeons,  and  all  about  it  lay  scattered  the 
bones  of  men.  It  seemed  to  be  garrisoned  by 
certain  men  in  black,  of  a gigantic  size,  and 
I j most  terrible  forms.  But  as  I drew  near,  the 
“ terror  of  the  appearance  vanished  ; and  the  cas- 
• I tie  I found  to  be  only  a church,  whose  steeple 
I with  its  clock  and  bell-ropes  was  mistaken  for 
j a tower  filled  with  racks  and  halters.  The  ter- 
I rible  giants  in  black  shrunk  into  a few  innocent 
clergymen.  The  dungeons  were  turned  into 

n vaults  designed  only  for  the  habitation  of  the 
dead : and  the  fortifications  proved  to  be  a 
church-yard,  with  some  scattered  bones  in  it, 
and  a plain  stone  wall  round  it. 

‘ I had  not  been  long  here  before  my  curiosity 
I was  raised  by  a loud  noise  that  I heard  in  the 
'■  inferior  region.  Descending  thither  I found  a 
, mob  of  the  passions  assembled  in  a riotous  man- 
; ner.  Their  tumultuary  proceedings  soon  con- 
vinced me,  that  they  affected  a democracy. 
After  much  noise  and  wrangle,  they  at  length 
all  hearkened  to  Vanity,  who  proposed  the 
I raising  of  a great  army  of  notions,  which  she 
offered  to  lead  against  those  dreadful  phantoms 
in  the  imagination  that  had  occasioned  all  this 
uproar. 

‘Away  posted  Vanity,  and  I after  her,  to  the 
storehouse  of  Ideas;  where  I beheld  a great 
number  of  lifeless  notions  confusedly  thrown 
together,  but  upon  the  approach  of  Vanity  they 
began  to  crawl.  Here  were  to  be  seen,  among 

I*  other  odd  things,  sleeping  deities,  corporeal 
spirits,  and  worlds  formed  by  chance ; with  an 
endless  variety  of  heathen  notions,  the  most  ir- 
regular and  grotesque  imaginable ; and  with 
these  were  jumbled  several  of  Christian  extrac- 
tion ; but  such  was  the  dress  and  liglit  they 
were  put  in,  and  their  features  were  so  distorted, 
that  they  looked  little  better  than  heathens. 
There  was  likewise  assembled  no  small  number 
of  phantoms  in  strange  habits,  who  proved  to 
be  idolatrous  priests  of  different  nations.  Va- 

Inity  gave  the  word,  and  straightway  the  Talo- 
poins.  Faquirs,  Bramins,  and  Bonzes,  drew  up 
in  a body.  The  right  wing  consisted  of  ancient 
heathen  notions,  and  the  left,  of  Christians 
naturalized.  All  these  together,  for  numbers, 
composed  a very  formidable  army;  but  the 
precipitation  of  Vanity  was  so  great,  and  such 
was  tlieir  own  inbred  aversion  to  the  tyranny 
of  rules  and  discipline,  that  they  seemed  rather 
a confused  rabble  than  a regular  army.  I could, 
nevertheless,  observe,  that  they  all  agreed  in  a 
squinting  look,  or  cast  of  their  eye  towards  a 
certain  person  in  a mask,  who  was  placed  in 
the  centre,  and  whom,  by  sure  signs  and  tokens, 

I discovered  to  be  Atheism. 

‘Vanity  had  no  sooner  led  her  forces  into  the 
imagination,  but  she  resolved  upon  storming 
the  castle,  and  giving  no  quarter.  They  began 
the  assault  with  a loud  outcry  and  great  confu- 
sion. I,  for  my  part,  made  the  best  of  my  way, 
and  re-entered  my  own  lodging.  Some  time 
after,  inquiring  at  a bookseller’s  for  a Discourse 
on  Free-thinking,  which  had  made  some  noise, 
H 


I I met  with  the  representatives  of  all  those  no- 
tions drawn  up  in  the  same  confused  order  upon 
paper.  Sage  Nestor,  I am  your  most  obedient 
humble  servant, 

‘ ULYSSES  COSMOPOLITA.’ 

‘ N.  B.  I went  round  the  table,  but  could  not 
find  a wit,  or  mathematician  among  them. 

I imagine  the  account  here  given  may  be 
useful  in  directing  to  the  proper  cure  of  a free- 
thinker. In  the  first  place,  it  is  plain  his  un- 
derstanding wants  to  be  opened  and  enlarged, 
and  he  should  be  taught  the  way  to  order  and 
methodise  his  ideas ; to  which  end  the  study  of 
the  mathematics  may  be  useful.  I am  farther 
of  opinion,  that  as  his  imagination  is  filled  with 
amusements  arising  from  prejudice,  and  the  ob- 
scure or  false  lights  in  which  he  sees  things,  it 
will  be  necessary  to  bring  him  into  good  com- 
pany, and  now  and  then  carry  him  to  church  ; 
by  which  means  he  may  in  time  come  to  a right 
sense  of  religion,  and  wear  off  the  ill  impres- 
sions he  has  received.  Lastly,  I advise  who- 
ever undertakes  the  reformation  of  a modern 
free-thinker,  that  above  all  things  he  be  careful 
to  subdue  his  vanity;  that  being  the  principal 
motive  which  prompts  a little  genius  to  distin- 
guish itself  by  singularities  that  are  hurtful  to 
mankind. 

Or,  if  the  passion  of  vanity,  as  it  is  for  the 
most  part  very  strong  in  your  free-thinkers, 
cannot  be  subdued,  let  it  be  won  over  to  the  in- 
terest of  religion,  by  giving  them  to  understand 
that  the  greatest  genii  of  the  age  have  a respect 
for  things  sacred  ; that  their  rhapsodies  find  no 
admirers,  and  that  the  name  Free-thinker  has, 
like  Tyrant  of  old,  degenerated  from  its  original 
signification,  and  is  now  supposed  to  denote 
something  contrary  to  wit  and  reason.  In  fine, 
let  them  know  that  whatever  temptations  a few 
men  of  parts  might  formerly  have  had,  from 
the  novelty  of  the  thing,  to  oppose  the  received 
opinions  of  Christians,  yet  that  now  the  humour 
is  worn  out,  and  blasphemy  and  irreligion  are 
distinctions  which  have  long  since  descended 
down  to  lackeys  and  drawers. 

But  it  must  be  my  business  to  prevent  all 
pretenders  in  this  kind  from  hurting  the  igno- 
rant and  unwary.  In  order  to  this,  I commu- 
nicated an  intelligence  which  I received  of  a 
gentleman’s  appearing  very  sorry  that  he  was 
not  well  during  a late  fit  of  sickness,  contrary 
to  his  own  doctrine,  which  obliged  him  to  be 
merry  upon  that  occasion,  except  he  was  sure 
of  recovering.  Upon  this  advice  to  the  world, 
the  following  advertisement  got  a place  in  the 
Post-boy  : 

‘ Whereas,  in  the  paper  called  the  Guardian 
of  Saturday,  the  eleventh  of  April,  instant,  a 
corollary  reflection  was  made  on  Monsieur 

D , a member  of  the  royal  academy  of 

sciences  in  Paris,  author  of  a book  lately  pub- 
lished, entitled, 

‘ A Philological  Essay,  or  Reflections  on  the 
death  of  Free-thinkers,  with  the  characters  of 
the  most  eminent  persons  of  both  sexes,  ancient 
and  modern,  that  died  pleasantly  and  uncon- 
cerned, &c.  Sold  by  J.  Baker  in  Paternoster-row: 
Suggesting,  as  if  that  gentleman,  now  in  Lon- 


53 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


don,  “ was  very  much  out  of  humour,  in  a late 
fit  of  sickness,  till  he  was  in  a fair  way  of  re- 
covery This  is  to  assure  the  public,  that  the 
said  g-entlenian  never  expressed  the  least  con- 
cern at  the  approach  of  death,  but  expected  the 
fatal  minute  with  a most  heroical  and  philoso- 
phical resignation  ; of  which  a copy  of  verses 
he  writ,  in  tlie  serene  intervals  of  his  distemper, 
is  an  invincible  proof.’ 

All  that  I contend  for,  is,  that  this  gentleman 
was  out  of  humour  when  he  was  sick  ; and  the 
advertiser,  to  confute  me,  says,  that  ‘ in  the 
serene  intervals  of  his  distemper,’  that  is,  when 
he  was  not  sick,  he  writ  verses.  I shall  not  re- 
tract my  advertisement  till  I see  those  verses, 
and  I will  choose  what  to  believe  then,  except 
they  are  underwritten  by  his  nurse,  nor  then 
neither  except  she  is  a housekeeper.  I must 
tie  this  gentleman  close  to  the  argument;  lor  if 
he  had  not  actually  his  fit  upon  him,  there  is 
nothing  courageous  in  the  thing,  nor  does  it 
make  for  his  purpose,  nor  are  they  heroic 
verses. 

The  point  of  being  merry  at  the  hour  of  death 
is  a matter  that  ought  to  be  settled  by  divines ; 
but  the  publisher  of  the  Philological  Essay  pro- 
duces his  chief  authorities  from  Lucretius,  the 
earl  of  Rochester,  and  Mr.  John  Dryden,  who 
were  gentlemen  that  did  not  think  themselves 
obliged  to  prove  all  they  said,  or  else  proved 
their  assertions  by  saying  or  swearing  they 
were  all  fools  that  believed  to  the  contrary.  If 
it  be  absolutely  necessary  that  a man  should  be 
facetious  at  his  death,  it  wmuld  be  very  well  if 

these  gentlemen.  Monsieur  D and  Mr. 

B w'ould  repent  betimes,  and  not  trust  to 

a death-bed  ingenuity ; by  what  has  appeared 
hitherto  they  liave  only  raised  our  longing  to  see 
their  posthumous  works. 

The  author  of  PoelcB  Rusticantis  literatum 
Otium  is  but  a mere  phraseologist,  the  philo- 
logical publisher  is  but  a translator  ; but  I ex- 
pected better  usage  from  Mr.  Abel  Roper,  who 
is  an  original. 


No.  40.]  Monday,  April  27,  1713. 

Compulerantque  greges  Coryclon  et  Thyrsis  in  unum  : 
Ex  illo  Corydon,  Corydon  est  tempore  nobis. 

Firg.  Eel.  vii.  2. 

Their  sheep  and  goats  together  graz’d  the  plains — 
Since  when  ? ’tis  Corydon  among  the  swains, 

Young  Corydon  without  a rival  reigns.  Dryden. 

I DESIGNED  to  have  troubled  the  reader  with 
no  farther  discourses  of  pastorals;  but  being  in- 
formed that  I atn  taxed  of  partiality  in  not  men- 
tioning an  author,  whose  eclogues  are  published 
in  the  same  volume  with  Mr.  Philips’s,  I shall 
employ  this  paper  in  observations  upon  him, 
written  in  the  free  spirit  of  criticism,  and  with- 
out apprehension  of  offending  the  gentleman, 
whose  character  it  is,  that  he  takes  the  greatest 
care  of  his  works  belbre  they  are  published,  and 
has  the  least  concern  for  them  afterwards. 

I have  laid  it  down  as  the  first  rule  of  pasto- 
ral, that  its  idea  should  be  taken  from  the  man- 
ners of  the  golden  age,  and  the  moral  formed 
upon  the  representation  of  innocence  ; it  is  there- 


[No.  40. 

fore  plain  that  any  deviations  from  that  design 
degrade  a poem  from  being  true  pastoral.  In 
this  view  it  will  appear  that  Virgil  can  only 
have  two  of  his  eclogues  allowed  to  be  such.  His 
first  and  ninth  must  be  rejected,  because  they 
describe  the  ravages  of  armies,  and  oppressions 
of  the  innocent;  Corydon’s  criminal  passion  ibr 
Alexis  throws  out  the  second  ; the  calumny  and 
railing  in  the  third  are  not  proper  to  that  state 
of  concord  ; the  eighth  represents  unlawful  ways 
of  procuring  love  by  enchantments,  and  intro- 
duces a shepherd  whom  an  inviting  precipice 
tempts  to  self-murder.  As  to  the  fourth,  sixth, 
and  tenth,  they  are  given  up  by  Heinsius,  Sal- 
masius,  Rapin,  and  the  critics  in  general.* 
They  likewise  observe  that  but  eleven  of  all  the 
Idyllia  of  Theocritus  are  to  be  admitted  as  pas- 
torals ; and  even  out  of  that  number  the  greater 
part  will  be  excluded,  for  one  or  other  of  the 
reasons  above-mentioned.  So  that  when  I re- 
marked  in  a former  paper,  that  Virgil’s  eclogues, 
taken  altogether,  are  rather  select  poems  than 
pastorals,  I might  have  said  the  same  thing, 
with  no  less  truth,  of  Theocritus.  The  reason 
of  this  I take  to  be  yet  unobserved  by  the  critics,  j 
viz.  ‘ Tiiey  never  meant  them  all  for  pastorals;*  ) 
which  it  is  plain  Philips  hath  done,  and  in  that 
particular  excelled  both  Theocritus  and  Virgil. 

As  simplicity  is  the  distinguishing  character- 
istic of  pastoral,  Virgil  has  been  thought  guilty 
of  too  courtly  a style:  his  language  is  perfectly 
pure,  and  he  often  forgets  he  is  among  peasants. 

I have  frequently  wondered  that  since  he  was 
so  conversant  in  the  writings  of  Ennius,  he  had 
not  imitated  the  rusticity  of  the  Doric,  as  well, 
by  the  help  of  the  old  obsolete  Roman  language, 
as  Philips  hath  by  the  antiquated  English.  For 
example,  might  he  not  have  said  ‘ quoi'  instead 
of  ‘ cui ;’  ‘ quoijum'  for  ‘ cujum  ;’  ‘ volV  for  ‘ vuU,'* 
See.  as  well  as  our  modern  hath  ‘ welladay'  for 
‘ alas,'  ‘ whilome'  for  ‘ of  old,'  ‘ ?}iake  mock'  for 
'•deride,'  and  ' witless  younglings'  for  ^ sun  pie 
lambs,'  Sec.  by  which  means  he  had  attained  as 
much  of  the  air  of  Theocritus,  as  Philips  hath 
of  Spenser  ? 

Mr.  Pope  hath  fallen  into  the  same  error  with 
Virgil.  Ills  clowns  do  not  converse  in  all  the 
simplicity  proper  to  the  country.  His  names 
are  borrowed  from  Theocritus  and  Virgil,  which 
are  improper  to  the  scene  of  his  pastorals.  He 
introduces  Daphnis,  Alexis,  and  Thyrsis  on 
British  plains,  as  Virgil  had  done  before  him  on 
the  Mantuan  : whereas  Philips,  who  hath  the 
strictest  regard  to  propriety,  makes  choice  of 
names  peculiar  to  the  country,  and  more  agree- 
able to  a reader  of  delicacy  ; such  as  Hobbinol, 
Lobbin,  Cuddy,  and  Colin  Clout. 

So  easy  as  pastoral  writing  may  seem  (in  the 
simplicity  we  have  described  it),  yet  it  requires 
great  reading,  both  of  the  ancients  and  moderns, 
to  be  a master  of  it.  Philips  hath  given  us  mani- 
fest proofs  of  his  knowledge  of  books ; it  must 
be  confessed  his  competitor  hath  imitated  some 
single  thouglits  of  the  ancients  well  enough,  if 
we  consider  he  had  not  the  happiness  of  a uni- 
versity education  ; but  he  hath  dispersed  them 
here  and  there,  without  that  order  and  method 
which  Mr.  Philips  observes,  whose  whole  third 


* See  Eapin  de  Carin.  Past,  pars  3. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


59 


I, 


I 


No.  40.- 


pastoral  is  an  instance  how  well  he  hath  studied 
the  fifth  of  Virgil,  and  how  judiciously  reduced 
Virgil’s  thoughts  to  the  standard  of  pastoral ; as 
his  contention  of  Colin  Clout  and  the  Nightin- 
gale, shows  with  what  exactness  he  hath  imi- 
tated Strada. 

When  I remarked  it  as  a principal  fault  to  in- 
troduce fruits  and  flowers  of  a foreign  growth, 
in  descriptions  where  the  scene  lies  in  our  coun- 
try, I did  not  design  that  observation  should  ex- 
tend also  to  animals,  or  the  sensitive  life  ; for  Phi- 
lips hath  with  great  judgtnent  described  wolves 
in  England,  in  his  first  pastoral.  Nor  would  I 
have  a poet  slavishly  confine  himself  (as  Mr. 
Pope  hath  done)  to  one  particular  season  of  tlie 
year,  one  certain  time  of  the  day,  and  one  un- 
broken scene  in  each  eclogue.  It  is  plain  Spen- 
ser neglected  this  pedantry,  who,  in  his  pastoral 
of  November,  mentions  the  mournful  song  of 
the  nightingale. 

‘ Sad  Philomel  her  song  in  tears  doth  steep.’ 

And  Mr.  Philips,  by  a poetical  creation,  hath 
raised  up  finer  beds  of  flowers  than  the  most 
industrious  gardener  ; his  roses,  lilies,  and  daflb- 
dils,  blow  in  the  same  season. 

But  the  better  to  discover  the  merits  of  our 
two  contemporary  pastoral  writers,  I shall  en- 
deavour to  draw  a parallel  of  them,  by  setting 
several  of  their  particular  thoughts  in  the  same 
light,  whereby  it  will  be  obvious  how  much  Phi- 
lips hath  the  advantage.  With  what  simplicity 
he  introduces  two  shepherds  singing  alternately: 

Hobi.  Come,  Rosalind,  O come,  for  without  thee 

What  pleasure  can  the  country  have  for  me. 
Come,  Rosalind,  O come:  My  brinded  kine, 

My  snowy  sheep,  my  farm,  and  all,  is  thine. 
Lang.  Come,  Rosalind,  O come;  here  shady  bowers. 
Here  are  cool  fountains,  and  here  springing 
Come,  Rosalind ; here  ever  let  us  stay,  ( flow’rs. 
And  sweetly  waste  our  live-long  time  away. 

Our  other  pastoral  writer,  in  expressing  the 
same  thought,  deviates  into  downright  poetry. 

Streph.  In  spring  the  fields,  in  autumn  hills  I love. 

At  morn  the  plains,  at  noon  the  shady  grove. 
But  Delia  always;  forc’d  from  Delia’s  sight. 

Nor  plains  at  morn,  nor  groves  at  noon  delight. 
Daph.  Sylvia ’s  like  autumn  ripe,  yet  mild  as  May, 

More  bright  than  noon,  yet  fresh  as  early  day  ; 
Ev’n  spring  displeases  when  she  shines  not  here  : 
But,  blest  with  her,  ’tis  spring  throughout  the 
year. 

In  the  first  of  these  authors,  two  shepherds  thus 
innocently  describe  the  behaviour  of  their  mis- 
tresses. 

Hohh.  As  Marian  bath’d,  by  chance  I passed  by  ; 

She  blush’d,  and  at  me  cast  a side-long  eye  : 
Then  swift  beneath  the  crystal  wave  she  try’d 
Her  beauteous  form,  but  all  in  vain  to  hide. 
Lanq.  As  I to  cool  me  bath'd  one  sultry  day. 

Fond  Lydia  lurking  in  the  sedges  lay  ; 

The  wanton  laugh’d,  and  seem’d  in  haste  to  fly  ; 
Yet  often  stopp’d,  and  often  turn’d  her  eye. 

The  other  modern  (who  it  must  be  confessed 
hath  a knack  of  versifying)  hath  it  as  follows  : 

Streph.  Me  gentle  Delia  beckons  from  the  plain. 

Then,  hid  in  shades,  eludes  her  eager  swain  ; 
But  feigns  a laugh,  to  see  me  search  around. 
And  by  that  laugh  the  willing  fair  is  found. 
Daph.  The  sprightly  Sylvia  trips  along  the  green  ; 

She  runs,  but  hopes  she  does  not  run  unseen  ; 
While  a kind  glance  at  her  pursuer  flies," 

How  much  at  variance  are  her  feet  and  eyes! 

There  is  nothing  the  writers  of  this  kind  of  po- 


etry are  fonder  of,  than  descriptions  of  pastoral 
presents.  Philips  says  thus  of  a sheep-hook  : 

Of  season’d  elm  ; where  studs  of  brass  appear. 

To  speak  the  giver's  name,  the  month,  and  year, 
The  hook  of  polish’d  steel,  the  handle  turn’d, 

And  richly  by  the  graver’s  skill  adorn’d.’ 

The  other  of  a bowl  embossed  with  figures; 

where  wanton  ivy  twines  ; 

And  swelling  clusters  beml  the  curling  vines; 

Four  figures  rising  from  the  work  appear. 

The  various  seasons  of  the  rolling  year  ; 

And  what  is  that  which  binds  the  radiant  sky. 
Where  twelve  bright  signs  in  beauteous  order  lie? 

The  simplicity  of  the  swain  in  this  place,  who 
forgets  the  name  of  the  Zodiac,  is  no  ill  imita- 
tion of  Virgil;  but  how  much  more  plainly  and 
unaffectedly  would  Philips  have  dressed  this 
thought  in  his  Doric  ? 

And  what  that  hight,  which  girds  the  Welkin  sheen. 
Where  twelve  gay  signs  in  meet  array  are  seen  ? 

If  the  reader  would  indulge  his  curiosity  any 
farther  in  the  comparison  of  particulars,  he  may 
read  the  first  pastoral  of  Philips  with  the  second 
of  his  contemporary,  and  the  fourth  and  sixth 
of  the  former  with  the  fourth  and  first  of  the 
latter ; where  several  parallel  places  will  occur 
to  every  one. 

Having  now  shown  some  parts,  in  which  these 
two  writers  may  be  compared,  it  is  a justice  I 
owe  to  Mr.  Philips,  to  discover  those  in  which 
no  man  can  compare  with  him.  First  that  beau- 
tiful rusticity,  of  which  I shall  only  produce  two 
instances,  out  of  a hundred  not  yet  quoted  : 

O woful  day!  O day  of  woe,  quoth  he. 

And  woeful  I,  who  live  the  day  to  see  ! 

That  simplicity  of  diction,  the  melancholy  flow- 
ing of  the  numbers,  the  solemnity  of  the  sound, 
and  the  easy  turn  of  the  words,  in  this  dirge  (to 
make  use  of  our  author’s  expression)  are  ex- 
tremely elegant. 

In  another  of  his  pastorals  a shepherd  utters 
a dirge  not  much  inferior  to  the  former,  in  the 
following  lines : 

Ah  me  the  while  ! ah  me,  the  luckless  day  1 
Ah  luckless  lad,  the  rather  might  I say  ; 

Ah  silly  I ! more  silly  than  my  sheep. 

Which  on  the  flovv’ry  plains  I once  did  keep. 

How  he  still  charms  the  ear  with  these  artful 
repetitions  of  the  epithets  ; and  how  significant 
is  the  last  verse  ! I defy  the  most  common  read- 
er to  repeat  them  without  feeling  some  motions 
of  compassion.  In  the  next  place  I shall  rank 
his  proverbs,  in  which  I formerly  observed  he 
excels.  For  example, 

A rolling  stone  is  ever  bare  of  moss ; 

And,  to  their  cost,  green  years  old  proverbs  cross. 

He  that  late  lies  down,  as  late  will  rise, 

And,  sluggard  like,  till  noon-day  snoring  lies, 
Against  ill  luck  all  cunning  foresight  fails; 
Whether  we  sleep  or  wake  it  naught  avails. 

Nor  fear,  from  upright  sentence,  wrong. 

Lastly,  his  elegant  dialect,  which  alone  might 
prove  him  the  eldest-born  of  Spenser,  and  our 
only  true  Arcadian  ; I should  think  it  proper 
for  the  several  writers  of  pastoral,  to  confine 
themselves  to  their  several  counties  : Spenser 
seems  to  have  been  of  this  opinion  ; for  he  hath 
laid  the  scene  of  one  of  his  pastorals  in  Wales, 


GO 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  41. 

Tuesday,  April  28,  1713. 


f 


where,  with  all  the  simplicity  natural  to  that 
part  of  our  island,  one  shepherd  bids  the  other 
good-morrow  in  an  unusual  and  elegant  manner. 

Digffon  Davey,  I bid  hur  God-day ; 

Or  Diggon  hur  is,  or  I mis-say. 

Diggon  answers, 

Hur  was  hur  whii^e  it  was  day  light ; 

But  now  hur  is  a most  wretched  wight,  &c. 

But  the  most  beautiful  example  of  this  kind 
that  I ever,  met  with,  is  a very  valuable  piece 
which  I chanced  to  find  among  some  old  manu- 
scripts, entitled,  A Pastoral  Ballad ; which  I 
think,  for  its  nature  and  simplicity,  may  (not- 
withstanding the  modesty  of  the  title)  be  allow- 
ed a perfect  pastoral.  It  is  composed  in  the  So- 
mersetshire dialect,  and  the  names  such  as  are 
proper  to  the  country  people.  It  may  be  observed, 
as  a farther  beauty  of  this  pastoral,  the  words 
Nymph,  Dryad,  Naiad,  Faun,  Cupid,  or  Satyr, 
are  not  once  mentioned  through  the  whole.  I 
shall  make  no  apology  for  inserting  some  few 
lines  of  this  excellent  piece.  Cicily  breaks  thus 
into  the  subject,  as  she  is  going  a milking : 

Cicily.  Rager  go  vetch  tlia  kee,'*'  or  else  tha  zun 
Will  quite  be  go,  beuore  c’have  half  a don. 
Roger.  Thou  should’st  not  ax  ma  tweece,  but  I’ve  a be 
To  dreave  our  bull  to  bull  tha  parson’s  kee. 

It  is  to  be  observed  thfTt  this  whole  dialogue 
is  formed  upon  the  passion  of  jealousy  ; and 
his  mentioning  the  parson’s  kine  naturally  re- 
vives the  jealousy  of  the  shepherdess  Cicily, 
which  she  expresses  as  follows : 

Cicily.  Ah  Rager,  Rager,  chez  was  zore  avraid 

When  in  yond  vieldyoii  kiss’d  tha  parson’s  maid: 
Is  this  the  love  that  once  to  me  you  zed  [bread  ? 
When  from  tha  wake  thou  brouglil’st  me  ginger- 
Roger.  Cicily  thou  charg’st  me  false — I’ll  zwear  To  thee, 
Tha  parson’s  maid  is  still  a maid  for  me. 

In  which  answer  of  his  are  expressed  at  once 
that  ‘ spirit  of  religion,’  and  that  ‘ innocence  of 
the  golden  age,’  so  necessary  to  be  observed  by 
all  writers  of  pastoral. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  piece  the  author  re- 
conciles the  lovers,  and  ends  the  eclogue  the 
most  simply  in  the  world  : 

So  Rager  parted  vor  to  vetch  tha  kee, 

And  vor  her  bucket  in  went  Cicily. 

I am  loth  to  show  my  fondness  for  antiquity  so 
far  as  to  prefer  this  ancient  British  author  to 
our  present  English  writers  of  pastoral ; but  I 
cannot  avoid  making  this  obvious  remark,  that 
both  Spenser  and  Philips  have  hit  into  the  same 
road  with  this  old  west  country  bard  of  ours. 

After  all  that  hath  been  said  I hope  none  can 
think  it  any  injustice  to  Mr.  Pope,  that  I for- 
bore to  mention  him  as  a pastoral  writer  ; since 
upon  the  whole  he  is  of  the  same  class  with 
Moschus  and  Bion,  whom  we  have  excluded  that 
rank ; and  of  whose  eclogues,  as  well  as  some 
of  Virgil’s,  it  may  be  said,  that  according  to  the 
description  we  have  given  of  this  sort  of  poetry, 
they  are  by  no  means  pastorals,  but  ‘ something 
better.’ 


That  is,  kine  or  cows. 


No.  41.] 

E’en  churches  are  no  sanctuaries  now. 

Epilogue  to  Cato. 

The  following  letter  has  so  much  truth  and 
reason  in  it,  that  I believe  every  man  of  sense 
and  honour  in  England,  will  have  a just  indig- 
nation against  the  person  who  could  commit  so 
great  a violence,  as  that  of  which  my  corres-  • 
pondent  complains. 

‘ To  the  Author  of  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — I claim  a place  in  your  paper  for  what  | 
I now  write  to  you,  from  the  declaration  which  k 
you  made  at  your  first  appearance,  and  the  very  ^ 
title  you  assume  to  yourself. 

‘ If  the  circumstance  which  I am  going  to 
mention  is  overlooked  by  one  who  calls  himself 
Guardian,  I am  sure  honour  and  integrity,  in- 
nocence and  virtue,  are  not  the  objects  of  his 
care. — The  Examiner  ends  his  discourse  of  Fri- 
day, the  twenty. fourth  instant,  with  these  words:  i 

“ No  sooner  was  D — * among  the  whigs,  and  i 
confirmed  past  retrieving,  but  lady  Char — tef  is 
taken  knotting  in  St.  James’s  chapel  during  di- 
vine service,  in  the  immediate  presence  both  of 
God  and  her  majesty,  who  were  affronted  to-  i 
gether,  that  the  family  might  appear  to  be  en- 
tirely come  over.  I spare  the  beauty  for  the 
sake  of  her  birth  ; but  certainly  there  was  no 
occasion  for  so  public  a proof,  that  her  fingers 
are  more  dexterous  in  tying  a knot,  than  her  fa- 
ther’s brains  in  perplexing  the  government.” 

‘ It  is  apparent  that  the  person  here  intended 
is  by  her  birth  a lady,  and  daughter  of  an  earl 
of  Great  Britain  ; and  the  treatment  this  author 
is  pleased  to  give  her,  he  makes  no  scruple  to 
own  she  is  exposed  to  by  being  his  daughter,  i 
Since  he  has  assumed  a licence  to  talk  of  this 
nobleman  in  print  to  his  disadvantage,  I hope 
his  lordship  will  pardon  me,  that  out  of  the  in- 
terest which  I,  and  all  true  Englishmen  have  in 
his  character,  I take  the  liberty  to  defend  him. 

‘ I am  willing  on  this  occasion,  to  allow  the 
claim  and  pretension  to  merit  to  be  such,  as  the 
same  author  describes  in  his  preceding  paper. 

“ By  active  merit  (says  the  Examiner  of  the 
twenty-first)  I understand,  not  only  the  power 
and  ability  to  serve,  but  the  actual  exercise  of 
any  one  or  more  virtues,  for  promoting  the  good  i 
of  one’s  country,  and  a long  and  steady  course  t 
of  real  endeavours  to  appear  useful  in  a govern-  t 
ment;  or  where  a person  eminently  qualified  i 
for  public  affairs,  distinguishes  himself  in  some  1 
critical  juncture,  and  at  the  expense  of  his  ease  » . 
and  fortune,  or  with  the  hazard  of  his  person,  ' 
exposes  himself  to  the  malice  of  a designing  fac-  i 
tion,  by  thwarting  their  wicked  purposes,  and  ' 
contributing  to  the  safety,  repose,  and  welfare 
of  a people.” 

‘ Let  us  examine  the  conduct  of  this  noble  earl  ! 

by  this  description.  Upon  the  late  glorious  re- 
volution, when  it  was  in  debate  in  what  manner 
the  people  of  England  should  express  their  gra- 
titude to  their  deliverer,  this  lord,  from  the  ut- 
most tenderness  and  loyalty  to  his  unhappy 


* Earl  of  Nottingham. 

t His  daughter,  lady  Charlotte  Finch,  afterwards 
duchess  of  Somerset. 


No.  42.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


Cl 


prince,  and  apprehensive  of  the  danger  of  so 
great  a change,  voted  against  king  William’s 
accession  to  the  throne.  However,  his  following 
services  sufficiently  testified  the  truth  of  that  his 
memorable  expression,  “ Though  he  could  not 
make  a king,  he  could  obey  him.”  The  whole 
course  and  tenour  of  his  life  ever  since  has  been 
visibly  animated,  by  a steady  and  constant  zeal 
for  the  monarchy  and  episcopacy  ofthese  realms. 
He  has  been  ever  reviled  by  all  who  are  cold  to 
the  interests  of  our  established  religion,  or  dis- 
senters from  it,  as  a favourer  of  persecution,  and 
a bigot  to  the  church,  against  the  civil  rights  of 
his  fellow-subjects.  Thus  it  stood  with  him  at 
the  trial  of  doctor  Sacheverell,  when  this  noble 
earl  had  a very  great  share  in  obtaining  the  gen- 
tle sentence  which  the  house  of  lords  pronounc- 
ed on  that  occasion.  But,  indeed,  I have  not 
heard  that  any  of  his  lordship’s  dependents  join- 
ed saint  Harry  in  the  pilgrimage  which  “ that 
meek  man”  took  afterwards  round  England,  fol- 
low'ed  by  drum,  trumpet,  and  acclamations,  to 
“ visit  the  churches.” — Civil  prudence  made  it, 
perhaps,  necessary  to  throw  the  public  affairs  in- 
to such  hands  as  had  no  pretensions  to  popular- 
ity in  either  party,  but  from  the  distribution  of 
the  queen’s  favours. 

‘ During  such,  and  other  later  transactions, 
(which  are  too  fresh  to  need  being  recounted) 
the  earl  of  Nottingham  has  had  the  misfortune 
to  differ  with  the  lords  who  have  the  honour  to 
be  employed  in  the  administration;  but  even 
among  these  incidents  he  has  highly  distin- 
guished himself  in  procuring  an  act  of  parlia- 
ment, to  prevent  that  those  who  dissent  from  the 
church  should  serve  in  the  state. 

‘ I hope  these  are  great  and  critical  junctures 
wherein  this  gentleman  has  shown  himself  a 
patriot  and  lover  of  the  church  in  as  eminent 
manner,  as  any  other  of  his  fellow'-subjects. 
“ He  has  at  alt  times,  and  in  all  seasons,  shown 
the  same  steady  abhorrence  to  all  innovations.” 
But  it  is  from  this  behaviour,  that  he  has  de- 
served so  ill  of  the  Examiner,  as  to  be  termed  a 
“ late  convert”  to  those  whom  he  calls  factious, 
and  introduced  in  his  profane  dialogue  of  April 
the  sixth,  with  a servant  and  a mad  woman.  I 
think  I have,  according  to  the  Examiner’s  own 
description  of  merit,  shown  how  little  this  noble- 
man deserves  such  treatment.  I shall  now  ap- 
peal to  all  the  world,  to  consider  whether  the 
outrage  committed  against  the  young  lady  had 
not  been  cruel  and  insufferable,  towards  the 
daughter  of  the  highest  offender. 

‘ The  utmost  malice  and  invention  could  go 
no  farther  than  to  forge  a story  of  her  having 
inadvertently  done  an  indifferent  action  in  a sa- 
cred place.  Of  what  temper  can  this  man  be 
made,  that  could  have  no  sense  of  the  pangs  he 
must  give  a young  lady  to  be  barely  mentioned 
in  a public  paper,  much  more  to  be  named  in  a 
libellous  manner,  as  having  offended  God  and 
man. 

‘ But  the  wretch,  as  dull  as  he  is  wicked,  felt 
it  strike  on  his  imagination,  that  knotting  and 
perplexir)g  would  make  a quaint  sting  at  the 
end  of  his  paper,  and  had  no  compunction, 
though  he  introduced  his  witticism  at  the  ex- 
pense of  a young  lady’s  quiet,  and  (as  far  as  in 
him  lies)  her  honour.  Does  he  thus  finish  his 


discourse  of  religion  ? This  is  indeed  “ to  lay  at 
us  and  make  every  blow  fell  to  the  ground.” 

‘ There  is  no  party  concerned  in  this  circum- 
stance ; but  every  man  that  hopes  for  a virtuous 
woman  to  his  wife,  that  would  defend  his  child, 
or  protect  his  mistress,  ought  to  receive  this  in- 
solence as  done  to  himself.  “ In  the  immediate 
presence  of  God  and  her  majesty,  that  the  fami- 
ly might  appear  to  be  entirely  come  over,”  says 
the  fawning  miscreant. — It  is  very  visible  which 
of  those  powers  (that  he  has  put  together)  he  is 
the  more  fearful  of  offending.  But  he  mistakes 
his  way  in  making  his  court  to  a pious  sovereign, 
by  naming  her  with  the  Deity,  in  order  to  find 
protection  for  insulting  a virtuous  woman,  who 
comes  to  call  upon  him  in  the  royal  chapel. 

‘ If  life  be  (as  it  ought  to  be  with  people  of 
their  character,  whom  the  Examiner  attacks) 
less  valuable  and  dear  than  honour  and  reputa- 
tion, in  that  proportion  is  the  Examiner  worse 
than  an  assassin;  we  have  stood  by  and  tamely 
heard  him  aggravate  the  disgraces  of  the  brave 
and  the  unfortunate,  we  have  seen  him  double 
the  anguish  of  the  unhappy  man,  w’e  have  seen 
him  trample  on  the  ashes  of  the  dead  ; but  all 
this  has  concerned  greater  life,  and  could  touch 
only  public  characters,  they  did  but  remotely 
affect  our  private  and  domestic  interests  ; but 
when  due  regard  is  not  had  to  the  honour  of 
women,  all  human  society  is  assaulted.  The 
highest  person  in  the  world  is  of  that  sex,  and 
has  the  utmost  seiisibility  of  an  outrage  commit- 
ted against  it.  She,  who  was  the  best  wife  that 
ever  prince  was  blessed  with,  will,  though  she 
sits  on  a throne,  jealously  regard  the  honour  of 
a young  lady  who  has  not  entered  into  that  con- 
dition. 

‘ Lady  Char — te’s  quality  will  make  it  impos- 
sible that  this  cruel  usage  can  escape  her  ma- 
jesty’s notice  ; and  it  is  the  business  of  every 
honest  man  to  trace  the  offender,  and  expose 
him  to  the  indignation  of  his  sovereign.’ 


No.  42.]  Wednesday,  April  29,  1713. 

Non  miseura  cutem,  nisi  plena  criioris  hirudo. 

Hor.  Ars  l*oet.  ver.  ult. 

Sticking  like  leeches  till  they  burst  with  blood. 

Roscommon. 

Tom  Lizard  told  us  a story  the  other  day,  of 
some  persons  which  our  family  know  very  well, 
with  so  much  humour  and  life,  that  it  caused  a 
great  deal  of  mirth  at  the  tea-table.  His  bro- 
ther Will,  the  templar,  was  highly  delighted 
with  it,  and  the  next  day  being  with  some  of 
his  inns-of-court  acquaintance,  resolved  (whe- 
ther out  of  the  benevolence,  or  the  pride  of  his 
heart,  I will  not  determine)  to  entertain  them 
with  what  he  called  ‘a  pleasant  humour  enough.’ 
I was  in  great  pain  for  him  when  I heard  him 
begin,  and  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  find  the 
company  very  little  moved  by  it.  Will  blushed, 
looked  round  the  room,  and  with  a forced  laugh, 
‘ Faith,  gentlemen,’  said  he,  ‘ I do  not  know 
what  makes  you  look  so  grave  ; it  was  an  ad- 
mirable story  when  I heard  it.’ 

When  I came  home  I fell  into  a profound 
contemplation  upon  story-telling,  and  as  I have 


62 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  42. 


nothing  so  much  at  heart  as  the  good  of  my 
country,  I resolved  to  lay  down  some  precau- 
tions upon  this  subject. 

I have  often  thought  that  a story-teller  is 
born,  as  well  as  a poet.  It  is,  I think,  certain, 
that  some  men  have  such  a peculiar  cast  of 
mind,  that  they  see  things  in  another  light  than 
men  of  grave  dispositions.  Men  of  a lively 
imagination,  and  a mirthful  temper,  will  repre- 
sent things  to  their  hearers  in  the  same  manner 
as  they  themselves  were  affected  with  tliem  ; 
and  whereas  serious  spirits  might  perhaps  have 
been  disgusted  at  the  sight  of  some  odd  occur- 
rences in  life;  yet  the  very  same  occurrences 
shall  please  them  in  a well-told  story,  where 
the  disagreeable  parts  of  the  images  are  con- 
cealed, and  those  only  which  are  pleasing  ex- 
hibited to  the  fancy.  Story-telling  is  therefore 
not  an  art,  but  what  we  call  ‘ a knack  it  doth 
not  so  much  subsist  upon  wit  as  upon  humour; 
and  I will  add,  that  it  is  not  perfect  without 
proper  gesticulations  of  the  body,  which  natu- 
rally attend  such  merry  emotions  of  the  mind. 
I know  very  well,  that  a certain  gravity  of 
countenance  sets  some  stories  off  to  advantage, 
where  the  hearer  is  to  be  surprised  in  the  end ; 
but  this  is  by  no  means  a general  rule  ; for  it  is 
frequently  convenient  to  aid  and  assist  by  cheer- 
ful looks,  and  whimsical  agitations.  I will  go 
yet  further,  and  affirm  that  the  success  of  a story 
very  often  depends  upon  the  make  of  the  body, 
and  formation  of  the  features,  of  him  who  re- 
lates  it.  I have  been  of  this  opinion  ever  since 
I criticised  upon  the  chin  of  Dick  Dewlap.  I 
very  often  had  the  weakness  to  repine  at  the 
prosperity  of  his  conceits,  which  made  him  pass 
for  a wit  with  the  widow  at  the  coffee-liouse,  and 
the  ordinary  mechanics  that  frequent  it;  nor 
could  I myself  forbear  laughing  at  them  most 
heartily,  though  upon  examination  I thought 
most  of  them  very  flat  and  insipid.  I found  after 
some  time,  that  the  merit  of  his  wit  was  found- 
ed upon  the  shaking  of  a fat  paunch,  and  the 
tossing  up  of  a pair  of  rosy  joles.  Poor  Dick 
had  a fit  of  sickness,  which  robbed  him  of  his 
fat  and  his  fame  at  once ; and  it  was  full  three 
months  before  he  regained  his  reputation,  which 
rose  in  proportion  to  his  Acridity.  He  is  now 
very  jolly  and  ingenious,  and  hath  a good  con- 
stitution for  wit. 

Those  who  are  thus  adorned  with  the  gifts 
of  nature,  are  apt  to  show  their  parts  v^fith  too 
much  ostentation : I would  therefore  advise  all 
the  professors  of  this  art  never  to  tell  stories 
but  as  they  seem  to  grow  out  of  the  subject 
matter  of  the  conversation,  or  as  they  serve  to 
illustrate  or  enliven  it.  Stories  that  are  very 
common  are  generally  irksome ; but  may  be 
aptly  introduced,  provided  they  be  only  hinted 
at,  and  mentioned  by  way  of  allusion.  Those 
that  are  altogether  new  should  never  be  ushered 
in  without  a short  and  pertinent  character  of 
the  chief  persons  concerned  ; because,  by  that 
means,  you  make  the  company  acquainted  with 
them  ; and  it  is  a certain  rule,  that  slight  and 
trivial  accounts  of  those  who  are  familiar  to  us, 
administer  more  mirth,  than  the  brightest 
points  of  wit  in  unknown  characters.  A little 
circumstance  in  the  complexion  or  dress  of  the 
man  you  are  talking  of  sets  his  image  before 


the  hearer,  if  it  be  chosen  aptly  for  the  story. 

Thus,  I remember  Tom  Lizard,  after  having 
made  his  sisters  merry  with  an  account  of  a i 
formal  old  man’s  way  of  complimenting,  owned  b 
very  frankly,  that  his  story  would  not  have  been  3 
worth  one  farthing,  if  he  had  made  the  hat  of  j 
him  whom  he  represented  one  inch  narrower 
Besides  the  marking  distinct  characters,  and 
selecting  pertinent  circumstances,  it  is  likewise  $ 

necessary  to  leave  oft’  in  time,  and  end  smartly.  ' 

So  that  there  is  a kind  of  drama  in  the  forming  1 

of  a story,  and  the  manner  of  conducting  and  | 

pointing  it,  is  the  same  as  in  an  epigram.  It  is  i 

a miserable  thing,  after  one  hath  raised  the  ex-  < 

pectalion  of  the  company  by  humourous  cha-  , 

racters,  and  a pretty  conceit,  to  pursue  the  ) 

matter  loo  far.  There  is  no  retreating,  and  how  s 

poor  it  is  for  a story-teller  to  end  his  relation  by 
saying,  ‘ that’s  all !’ 

As  the  choosing  of  pertinent  circumstances 
is  the  life  of  a story,  and  that  wherein  humour 
principally  consists;  so  the  collectors  of  imper- 
tinent particulars  are  the  very  bane  and  opiates 
of  conversation.  Old  men  are  great  transgres- 
sors this  way.  Poor  Ned  Poppy, — he’s  gone — ■* 

was  a very  honest  man,  but  was  so  excessively  J 

tedious  over  his  pipe,  that  he  was  not  to  be  en-  i 

dured.  He  knew  so  exactly  what  they  had  for  i 

dinner  ; when  such  a thing  happened  ; in  what  ( 

ditch  his  bay  stone-horse  had  his  sprain  at  that  1 

time,  and  how  his  man  John, — no!  ’twas  VVil-  1 

liam,  started  a hare  in  the  common  field ; that 
he  never  got  to  the  end  of  las  tale.  Then  he 
was  extremely  particular  in  marriages  and 
inter-rnarriagps,  and  cousins  twice  or  thrice 
removed ; and  whether  such  a thing  happened 
at  the  latter  end  of  July,  or  the  beginning  of 
August.  He  had  a marvellous  tendency  like- 
wise to  digressions ; insomuch  that  if  a consi- 
derable person  was  mentioned  in  his  story,  he 
would  straightway  launch  out  into  an  episode 
of  him ; and  again,  if  in  that  person’s  story  he 
had  occasion  to  remember  a third  man,  he 
broke  off,  ajid  gave  us  his  history,  and  so  on. 

He  always  put  me  in  mind  of  what  sir  William 
Temple  informs  us  of  the  tale-tellers  in  the 
north  of  Ireland,  who  are  hired  to  tell  stories 
of  giants  and  enchanters  to  lull  people  asleep. 
These  historians  are  obliged,  by  their  bargain, 
to  go  on  without  stopping ; so  that  after  the 
patient  hath,  by  this  benefit,  enjoyed  a long 
nap,  he  is  sure  to  find  the  operator  proceeding 
in  his  work.  Ned  procured  the  like  effect  in 
me  the  last  time  I was  with  him.  As  he  was 
in  the  third  hour  of  his  story,  and  very  thank- 
ful that  his  memory  did  not  fail  him,  I fairly 
nodded  in  the  elbow  chair.  He  was  much  af- 
fronted at  this,  till  I told  him,  ‘ Old  friend,  you 
have  your  infirmity,  and  I have  mine.’ 

But  of  all  evils  in  story-telling,  the  humour 
of  telling  tales,  one  after  another,  in  great  num- 
bers, is  the  least  supportable.  Sir  Harry  Pandolf 
and  his  son  gave  my  lady  Lizard  great  offence 
in  this  particular.  Sir  Harry  hath  what  they 
call  a string  of  stories,  which  he  tells  over  every 
Christmas.  When  our  family  visits  there,  we 
are  constantly,  after  supper,  entertained  with 
the  Glastonbury  Thorn.  When  we  have  won. 
dered  at  that  a little,  ‘ Ay,  but,  father,’  saith  the 
son,  let  us  have  the  Spirit  in  the  Wood.’  After 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


63 


I No.  43.] 

that  hath  been  laughed  at,  ‘ Ay,  but  father,’ 
cries  the  booby  again,  ‘ tell  us  how  you  served 
the  robber.’  ‘ AlacU-a-day,’  saitli  sir  Harry, 
with  a smile,  and  rubbing  his  forehead,  ‘ I have 
almost  forgot  that ; but  ’tis  a pleasant  conceit, 
to  be  sure.’  Accordingly  he  tells  that  and 
twenty  more  in  the  same  independent  order, 
and  without  the  least  variation,  at  this  day,  as 
. he  hath  done  to  my  knowledge,  ever  since  the 

' i revolution.  I must  not  forget  a very  odd  com- 

pliment that  sir  Harry  always  makes  my  lady 
, when  he  dines  here.  After  dinner  he  strokes 
: j his  belly,  and  says  with  a feigned  concern  in 
|j  his  countenance,  ‘ Madam,  I have  lost  by  you 
to-day.’  ‘ How  so,  sir  Harry  V replies  my  lady  ; 
li  ‘Madam,’  says  he,  ‘I  have  lost  an  excellent 
[;  stomach.’  At  this,  his  son  and  heir  laughs  im- 
i moderately,  and  winks  upon  Mrs.  Annabella. 
This  is  the  thirty-third  time  that  sir  Harry  hath 
been  thus  arch,  and  I can  bear  it  no  longer. 

As  the  telling  of  stories  is  a great  help  and 
life  to  conversation,  I always  encourage  them, 
if  they  are  pertinent  and  innocent;  in  opposition 
to  those  gloomy  mortals,  who  disdain  every 
thing  but  matter  of  fact.  Those  grave  fellows 
are  my  aversion,  who  sift  every  thing  with  the 
utmost  nicety,  and  find  the  malignity  of  a lie  in 
j a piece  of  hutnour,  pushed  a little  beyond  exact 
truth.  I likewise  have  a poor  opinion  of  those 
who  have  got  a trick  of  keeping  a steady  coun- 
tenance, that  cock  their  hats,  and  look  glum 
when  a pleasant  thing  is  said,  and  ask,  ‘ Well ! 
and  w’hat  then  V Men  of  wit  and  parts  should 
treat  one  another  with  benevolence:  and  I will 
lay  it  down  as  a maxim,  that  if  you  seem  to 
have  a good  opinion  of  another  man’s  wit,  he 
will  allow  you  to  have  judgment. 


No.  43.]  Thursday,  April  30,  1713. 

•Effiitire  leves  inclisna  I’rajrajdia  versus, 

Ut  festus  matrona  inoveri  jussa  diebus. 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  231. 

Tragedy  should  bliisli  as  much  to  stoop 

To  the  low  mimic  follies  of  a farce, 

As  a grave  matron  would  to  dance  with  girls. 

Roscommon. 


difficult  virtue  to  forbear  going  into  a family, 
though  she  was  in  love  with  the  heir  of  it,  for 
no  other  reason  but  because  her  happiness  was 
inconsistent  with  the  tranquillity  of  the  whole 
house,  to  which  she  should  be  allied.  I say,  I 
think  it  a more  generous  virtue  in  Lucia  to 
conquer  her  love  from  this  motive,  than  in 
Marcia  to  suspend  hers  in  the  present  circum- 
stances of  her  father  and  her  country  : but  pray 
be  here  to  settle  these  matters.  I am,  your 
most  obliged  and  obedient  humble  servant, 

‘ MARY  LIZARD.’ 

I made  all  the  haste  imaginable  to  the  family, 
where  I found  Tom  with  the  play  in  his  hand, 
and  the  whole  company  with  a sublime  cheer- 
fulness in  their  countenance,  all  ready  to  speak 
to  me  at  once : and  before  I could  draw  my 
chair,  my  lady  herself  repeated, 

’Tis  not  a set  of  features,  or  complexion, 

The  tincture  of  a skin  that  I admire  ; 

Beauty  soon  grow's  familiar  to  the  lover. 

Fades  in  his  eye,  and  palls  upon  the  sense. 

The  virtuous  Marcia  towers  above  her  sex  : 

True,  she  is  fair  ; (oh  ! how  divinely  fair!) 

Rut  still  the  lovely  maid  improves  her  charms 
With  inward  greatness,  unaffected  wisdom, 

And  sanctity  of  manners. 

I was  going  to  speak,  when  Mrs.  Cornelia 
stood  up,  and  with  the  most  gentle  accent  and 
sweetest  tone  of  voice  succeeded  her  mother  : 

So  the  pure  limpid  stream,  when  foul  with  stains 
Of  rushing  torrents  and  descending  rains, 

Works  itself  clear,  and  as  it  runs  refines. 

Till  by  degrees  the  floating  mirror  shines. 

Reflects  each  flower  that  on  the  border  grows. 

And  a new  heaven  in  its  fair  bosom  shows. 

I thought  now  they  would  have  given  me  time 
to  draw  a chair  ; but  the  Sparkler  took  hold  of 
me,  and  I heard  her  with  the  utmost  delight 
pursue  her  admiration  of  Lucia  in  the  words  of 
Fortius : 

Athwart  the  terrors  that  thy  vow 

Has  planted  round  thee,  thou  appear’st  more  fair. 
More  amiable,  and  risest  in  thy  charms, 

Loveliest  of  women  ! Heaven  is  in  thy  soul. 

Beauty  and  virtue  shine  for  ever  round  thee, 
Bright’ning  each  other  ; thou  art  all  divine! 

When  the  ladies  had  done  speaking,  I took 
the  liberty  to  take  my  place  ; while  Tom,  who, 
like  a just  courtier,  thinks  the  interest  of  his 
prince  and  country  the  same,  dwelt  upon  these 
lines  : 

Remember,  O my  friends,  the  laws,  the  rights. 

The  generous  plan  of  power  deliver'd  down 
From  age  to  age,  by  your  renown’d  forefathers, 

(So  dearly  bought,  the  price  of  so  much  blood.) 

O let  it  never  perish  in  your  hands! 

But  piously  transmit  it  to  your  children. 

Though  I would  not  take  notice  of  it  at  that 
time,  it  went  to  my  heart  that  Annabella,  for 
whom  I have  long  had  some  apprehensions, 
said  nothing  on  this  occasion,  but  indulged  her- 
self in  the  sneer  of  a little  mind,  to  see  the  rest 
so  much  affected.  Mrs.  Betty  also,  who  knows 
forsooth  more  than  us  all,  overlooked  the  whole 
drama,  but  acknowledged  the  dresses  ofSyphax 
and  Juba  were  very  prettily  imagined.  The 
love  of  virtue,  which  has  been  so  warmly  roused 
by  this  admirable  piece  in  all  parts  of  the 
theatre,  is  an  unanswerable  instance  of  how 
great  force  the  stage  might  be  towards  the  irn- 
I provement  of  the  world,  were  it  regarded  and 


I HAD  for  some  days  observed  something  in 
agitation,  which  was  carried  by  smiles  and 
whispers  between  my  lady  Lizard  and  her 
daughters,  with  a professed  declaration  that 
Mr.  Ironside  should  not  be  in  the  secret.  I 
would  not  trespass  upon  the  integrity  of  the 
Sparkler  so  much  as  to  solicit  her  to  break  her 
word  even  in  a trifle  ; but  I take  it  for  an  in- 
stance of  her  kindness  to  me,  that  as  soon  as 
she  was  at  liberty,  she  was  impatient  to  let  me 
know  it,  and  this  morning  sent  me  the  follow- 
ing billet : 

‘ Sir, — My  brother  Tom  waited  upon  us  all 
last  night  to  Cato ; we  sat  in  the  first  seats  in 
the  box  of  the  eighteen-penny  gallery.  You 
must  come  hither  this  morning,  for  we  shall  be 
full  of  debates  about  the  characters.  I was  for 
Marcia  last  night,  but  find  that  partiality  was 
owing  to  the  awe  I was  under  in  her  father’s 
presence ; but  this  morning  Lucia  is  my  wo- 
man. You  will  tell  me  whether  I am  right  or 
no  when  I see  you ; but  I think  it  is  a more 


64 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  44. 


encouraged  as  much  as  it  ought.  There  is  no 
medium  in  this  case,  for  the  advantages  of  ac- 
tion, and  the  representation  of  vice  and  virtue 
in  an  agreeable  or  odious  manner  before  our 
eyes,  are  so  irresistibly  prevalent,  that  the  theatre 
ought  to  be  shut  up,  or  carefully  governed,  in 
any  nation  that  values  the  promotion  of  virtue 
or  guard  of  innocence  among  its  people.  Speech- 
es or  sermons  will  ever  suffer,  in  some  degree, 
from  the  characters  of  those  that  make  them  ; 
and  mankind  are  so  unwilling  to  reflect  on  what 
makes  for  their  own  mortification,  that  they  are 
ever  cavilling  against  the  lives  of  those  who 
speak  in  the  cause  of  goodness,  to  keep  them- 
selves in  countenance,  and  continue  in  beloved 
infirmities.  But  in  the  case  of  the  stage,  envy 
and  detraction  are  baffled,  and  none  are  offend- 
ed, but  all  insensibly  won  by  personated  charac- 
ters, which  they  neither  look  upon  as  their 
rivals,  or  superiors  ; every  man  that  has  any 
degree  of  what  is  laudable  in  a theatrical  cha- 
racter, is  secretly  pleased,  and  encouraged  in 
the  prosecution  of  that  virtue  without  fancying 
any  man  about  him  has  more  of  it.  To  this 
purpose  I fell  a talking  at  the  tea-table,  when 
my  lady  Lizard,  with  a look  of  some  severity 
towards  Annabella  and  Mrs.  Betty,  was  pleased 
to  say,  that  it  must  be  from  some  trifling  pre- 
possession of  mind  that  any  one  could  be  un- 
moved with  the  characters  of  this  tragedy  ; nor 
do  I yet  understand  to  what  circumstance  in  the 
family  her  ladyship  alluded,  when  she  made  all 
the  company  look  serious,  and  rehearsed,  wuth 
a tone  more  exalted,  those  words  of  the  heroine. 

In  spite  of  all  the  virtues  we  can  boast, 

The  woman  that  deliberates  is  lost. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Whereas  Bat  Pigeon  in  the  Strand,  hair-cutter 
to  the  family  of  the  Lizards,  has  attained  to 
great  proficience  in  his  art,  Mr.  Ironside  advises 
all  persons  of  fine  heads,  in  order  to  have  justice 
done  them,  to  repair  to  that  industrious  me- 
chanic. 

N.  B.  Mr.  Pigeon  has  orders  to  talk  with, 
and  examine  into  the  parts  and  characters  of 
young  persons,  before  he  thins  the  covering 
near  the  seat  of  the  brain. 


No.  44.]  Friday,  May  1,  1713. 

llac  iter  Elysium  nobis.  Virg.  .^n.  vi.  54'2. 

This  path  conducts  us  to  1h’  Elysian  fields. 

I HAVE  frequently  observed  in  the  w'alks  be- 
longing to  all  the  inns  of  court,  a set  of  old  fel- 
lows who  appear  to  be  humourists,  and  wrapped 
up  in  themselves  ; but  have  long  been  at  a loss 
when  I have  seen  them  smile,  and  name  my 
name  as  I passed  by,  and  say.  Old  Ironside 
wears  well.  I am  a mere  boy  to  some  of  them 
who  frequent  Gray’s-inn,  but  am  not  a little 
pleased  to  find  they  are  even  with  the  world, 
and  return  upon  it  its  neglect  towards  them, 
which  is  all  the  defence  w'e  old  fellows  have 
against  the  petulancy  of  young  people.  I am 
very  glad  to  observe  that  these  sages  of  this 
peripatetic  sect  study  tranquillity  and  indolence 


of  body  and  mind,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  so 
much  contention  as  is  carried  on  among  the  n 
students  of  Littleton.  The  following  letter  u 
gives  us  some  light  into  the  manners  and  max-  ^ 
ims  of  these  philosophers.  i 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — As  the  depredations  of  time  and  for-  \ 
tune  have  been  lamented  in  all  ages,  those  per-  .f 
sons  who  have  resisted  and  disputed  the  tyranny  i 
of  either  of  these,  have  employed  the  sublimest  i 
speculations  of  the  writers  in  all  languages.  As 
these  deceased  heroes  have  had  their  places  ju- 
diciously assigned  them  already  in  the  temple 
of  fame,  I would  immortalize  some  persons  now 
alive,  who  to  me  are  greater  objects  of  envy, 
both  as  their  bravery  is  exercised  with  the  ut- 
most tranquillity  and  pleasure  to  themselves, 
and  as  they  are  substantially  happy  on  this  side 
the  grave,  in  opposition  to  all  the  Greek  and 
Latin  scraps  to  the  contrary. 

‘ As  therefore  I am  naturally  subject  to  cruel 
inroads  from  the  spleen,  as  I affirm  all  evil  to 
come  from  the  east,  as  I am  the  weather-glass 
of  every  company  I come  into,  I sometimes, 
according  to  Shakspeare, 

Sit  like  my  Jirandsire  cut  in  alabaster, 

Sleep  whilst  I wake,  and  creep  into  the  jaundice  I 

By  being  peevish. 

‘ I would  furnish  out  a table  of  merry  fame,  4 
in  envious  admiration  of  those  jovial  blades,  who  n 
disappoint  the  strokes  of  age  and  fortune  with  I 
the  same  gayety  of  soul,  as  when  through  youth  1 
or  affluence  they  were  in  their  prime  for  fancy,  : 
frolic,  and  achievement.  There  are,  you  may  i 
observe,  in  all  public  walks,  persons  who  by  a 
singular  shabbiness  of  their  attire,  make  a very  l 
ridiculous  appearance  in  the  opinion  of  the  men 
of  dress.  They  are  very  sullen  and  involved, 
and  appear  in  such  a state  of  distress  and  tribu- 
lation as  to  be  thought  inconsolable.  They  are 
generally  of  that  complexion  which  was  in  fa- 
shion during  the  pleasurable  reign  of  Charles 
the  Second.  Some  of  them,  indeed,  are  of  a 
lighter  brown,  whose  fortunes  fell  with  that  of 
king  James.  Now  these,  w^ho  are  the  jest  of 
such  as  take  themselves,  and  the  wmrld  usually 
takes,  to  be  in  prosperity,  are  the  very  persons 
whose  happiness,  were  it  understood,  would  be 
looked  upon  with  burning  envy.  I fell  into  the 
discovery  of  them  in  the  following  manner  : 

One  day  last  summer,  being  particularly  under 
the  dominion  of  the  spleen,  I resolved  to  sooth 
my  melancholy  in  the  company  of  such,  whose 
appearance  promised  a full  return  of  any  com- 
plaints I could  possibly  utter.  liiving  near 
Gray’s-inn  walk,  I went  thither  in  search  of 
the  persons  above  described,  and  found  some 
of  them  seated  upon  a bench,  where,  as  Milton 
sings, 

the  unpierced  shade 

Imbrowned  their  noontide  bower. 

‘ I squeezed  in  among  them,  and  they  did  not 
only  reeeive  my  moanings  with  singular  hu- 
manity, but  gave  me  all  possible  encouragement 
to  enlarge  them.  If  the  blackness  of  my  spleen 
raised  any  imaginary  distemper  of  body,  some 
one  of  them  immediately  sympathized  with  me. 

If  I spoke  of  any  disappointment  in  my  fortune 


No,  45.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


05 


another  of  them  would  abate  my  sorrowing  by 
recounting  to  me  his  own  defeat  upon  the  very 
same  circumstances.  If  I touched  upon  over- 
looked merit,  the  whole  assembly  seemed  to 
condole  with  me  very  feelingly  upon  that  par- 
ticular. In  short,  I could  not  make  myself  so 
calamitous  in  mind,  body,  or  circumstances,  but 
some  one  of  them  was  upon  a level  with  me. 
When  I had  wound  up  my  discourse,  and  was 
I ripe  for  their  intended  raillery,  at  first  they 
crowned  my  narration  with  several  piteous 
: sighs  and  groans,  but  after  a short  pause,  and  a 

j signal  given  for  the  onset,  they  burst  out  into  a 
I most  incomprehensible  fit  of  laughter.  You  may 
' be  sure  I was  notably  out  of  countenance,  which 
gave  occasion  to  a second  explosion  of  the  same 
mirth.  What  troubled  me  most  was,  that  their 
figure,  age,  and  short  swords,  preserved  them 
from  any  imputation  of  cowardice  upon  refusal 
of  battle,  and  their  number  from  insult.  I had 
now  no  other  way  to  be  upon  good  terms  with 
them,  but  desiring  I might  be  admitted  into 
this  fraternity.  This  was  at  first  vigorously 
opposed,  it  being  objected  to  me,  that  I affected 
too  much  the  appearance  of  a happy  man  to  be 
received  into  a society  so  proud  of  appearing 
the  most  afflicted.  However,  as  I only  seemed 
I to  be  what  they  really  were,  I am  admitted  by 
way  of  triumph  upon  probation  for  a year  : and 
if  within  that  time  it  shall  be  possible  for  them 
to  infuse  any  of  their  gayety  into  me,  I can,  at 
Monmouth-street,  upon  mighty  easy  terms,  pur- 
chase the  robes  necessary  for  my  installment 
into  this  order ; and  when  they  have  made  me 
as  happy,  shall  be  willing  to  appear  as  miserable 
as  any  of  this  assembly.  I confess  I have  ever 
since  been  ashamed,  that  I should  once  take 
that  place  to  be  sacred  to  the  disconsolate,  wdiich 
I now  must  affirm  to  be  the  only  Elysium  on 
this  side  the  Styx  ; and  that  ever  I should  look 
upon  those  personages  as  lively  instances  of 
the  outrage  of  time  and  fortune,  who  disallow 
their  empire  with  such  inimitable  bravery. 
Some  of  these  are  pretty  good  classical  scholars, 
and  they  follow  these  studies  always  walking, 
upon  account  of  a certain  sentence  in  Pliny’s 
epistles  to  the  following  effect.  “ ’Tis  incon- 
ceivable how  much  the  understanding  is  en- 
livened by  the  exercise  of  the  body.”  If  there- 
fore their  author  is  a little  difficult,  you  will  see 
them  fleeting  with  a very  precipitate  pace,  and 
when  it  has  been  very  perplexed  and  abstruse,  I 
have  seen  a couple  of  these  students  prepare 
' their  apprehensions  by  still  quicker  motions, 
till  they  run  into  wisdom.  These  courses  do 
not  only  make  them  go  through  their  studies 
I with  pleasure  and  profit, but  there  is  more  spirit 
and  vigour  in  their  dialogues  after  the  heat  and 
hurry  of  these  perambulations.  This  place  was 
chosen  as  the  peculiar  resort  of  these  sages,  not 
only  upon  account  of  its  air  and  situation,  but 
in  regard  to  certain  edifices  and  seats  therein 
raised  with  great  magnificence  and  conveni- 
, ence  : and  here,  after  the  toils  of  their  walks, 
, and  upon  any  stress  of  weather,  these  blessed 
inhabitants  assemble  themselves.  There  is  one 
building  particularly,  in  which,  if  the  day  per- 
mit, they  have  the  most  frequent  conferences, 
i not  so  much  because  of  the  loveliness  of  its 
eminence,  as  a sentence  of  literature  incircling 


the  extremities  of  it,  which  I think  is  as  fol- 
lows : “ Franciscus  Bacon  Eques  Auratus  Ex. 
ecutor  Testamenti  JeremitB  Bettenliam  Hiijus 
Hospitii  Viri  Abstejnii  et  Contemplatwi  lianc 
Sedern  posuit  in  Memorium  Ejusde?n,"  Now 
this  structure  being  erected  in  honourable  me- 
mory of  the  abstemious,  the  contemplative  Mr. 
Bettenham,  they  take  frequent  occasion  to  rally 
this  erudition,  which  is  to  continue  the  remem- 
brance of  a person,  who,  according  to  their 
translation  of  the  words,  being  confessed  to 
have  been  of  most  splenetic  memory,  ought  ra- 
ther to  lie  buried  in  oblivion. 

‘Lest  they  should  flag  in  their  own  way  of 
conversation,  they  admit  a fair-one  to  relieve 
them  with  hers.  There  are  two  or  three  thin 
existences  among  them,  which  I think  I may 
call  the  ghosts  of  departed  beaux,  who  pay  their 
court  more  particularly  to  this  lady,  though 
their  passion  never  rises  higher  than  a kiss, 
which  is  always 

Yielded  with  coy  submission,  modest  pride, 

And  sweet  reluctant  amorous  delay.  Milton. 

‘As  it  is  the  character  of  this  fraternity  to 
turn  their  seeming  misfortunes  to  their  advan- 
tage, they  affirm  it  to  be  the  greatest  indulgence 
imaginable  in  these  amours,  that  nature  per- 
petuates their  good  inclinations  to  the  fair,  by 
an  inability  to  extinguish  them. 

‘ During  my  year  of  probation,  I am  to  pre- 
pare myself  with  such  parts  of  history  as  havo 
engaged  their  application  during  the  leisure  of 
their  ill-fortune ; I am  therefore  to  read  Rush- 
worth  and  Clarendon,  in  the  perusal  of  which 
authors  I am  not  obliged  to  enter  into  the  just- 
ness of  their  reflections  and  characters,  but  am 
desired  to  read,  with  an  eye  particularly  curious, 
the  battles  of  Marston-moor  and  Edgehill,  in 
one  of  which  every  man  of  this  assembly  has 
lost  a relation  ; and  each  has  a story  which  none 
who  has  not  read  those  battles  is  able  to  taste. 

‘ I had  almost  forgot  to  mention  a most  un- 
exampled piece  of  their  gallantry.  Some  time 
since,  in  a prodigious  foggy  morning,  I went  in 
search  of  these  persons  to  their  usual  place  of 
resort,  and  perhaps  shall  hardly  be  believed, 
when  I affirm,  that,  notwithstanding  they 
sucked  in  so  condensed  and  poisonous  an  agther, 
I found  them  enjoying  themselves  with  as  much 
vivacity,  as  if  they  had  breathed  in  the  serenity 
of  Montpelier. — I am,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  J.  W.’ 


No.  45.]  Saturday,  May  2,  1713. 

I DO  not  know  that  I havo  been  more  inti- 
mately  moved  with  pity  in  my  whole  life,  than 
when  I was  reading  a letter  from  a young  wo- 
man, not  yet  nineteen,  in  which  there  are  these 
lamentable  words,  ‘ Alas  ! whither  shall  I fly  ? 
he  ha.s  deceived,  ruined,  and  left  me.’  The  cir- 
cumstances of  her  story  are  only  those  ordi- 
nary ones,  that  her  lover  was  a man  of  greater 
fortune  than  she  could  expect  w'ould  address  to 
her  upon  honourable  terms ; but  she  said  to  her- 
self, ‘ She  had  wit  and  beauty,  and  such  charms 
as  often  captivate  so  far  as  to  make  men  forget 
those  meaner  considerations,  aqd  innocent  free- 
6# 


66 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  45. 


doms  were  not  to  be  denied.  A gentleman  of 
condition  is  not  to  be  shunned  purely  for  being 
such  ; and  they  who  took  notice  of  it,  did  it  only 
out  of  malice,  because,  they  were  not  used  by 
him  with  the  same  distinction.’  But  I would 
have  young  women,  who  are  orphans,  or  un- 
guarded with  powerful  alliances,  consider  with 
horror  the  insolence  of  wealth.  Fortune  does 
in  a g'reat  measure  denominate  what  is  vice  and 
virtue ; or  if  it  does  not  go  so  far,  innocence  is 
helpless,  and  oppression  unpunished  without  its 
assistance ; for  this  reason  it  is,  that  I would 
strictly  recommend  to  my  young  females  not  to 
dally  with  men  whose  circumstances  can  sup- 
port them  against  their  falseliood,  and  have  the 
fashion  of  a base  self-interested  world  on  their 
side,  which,  instead  of  avenging  the  cause  of 
an  abused  woman,  will  proclaim  her  dishonour; 
while  the  person  injured  is  shunned  like  a pes- 
tilence, he  who  did  the  wrong  sees  no  difference 
in  the  reception  he  meets  with,  nor  is  he  the 
less  welcome  to  the  rest  of  the  sex,  who  are  still 
within  the  pale  of  honour  and  innocence. 

What  makes  this  circumstance  the  more  la- 
mentable, is,  that  it  frequently  falls  upon  those 
who  have  greatest  merit  and  understanding. 
Gentleness  of  disposition,  and  taste  of  polite 
conversation,  I have  often  known  snares  to- 
ward vice  in  some,  whilst  sullenness  and  dis- 
relish of  any  thing  that  was  agreeable,  have 
been  the  only  defences  of  virtue  in  others.  I 
have  my  unhappy  correspondent’s  letter  before 
me  ; and  she  says  she  is  sure,  he  is  so  much  a 
gentleman,  and  he  has  that  natural  softness, 
that  if  he  reads  any  thing  moving  on  this  sub- 
ject in  my  paper,  it  will  certainly  make  him 
think.  Poor  girl ! ‘ Caesar  ashamed  ! Has  not 
he  seen  Pharsalia?’  Does  the  poor  creature 
imagine  that  a scrip  of  paper,  a collection  of 
sentences,  and  an  old  man’s  talk  of  pleasures 
which  he  is  past,  will  have  an  effect  upon  him 
who  could  go  on  in  a series  of  falsehood ; let 
drop  ambiguous  sentences  in  her  absence,  to 
give  her  false  hope  from  the  repetition  of  them 
by  some  friend  that  heard  them  ; that  could  pass 
as  much  time  in  the  pursuit  of  her,  as  would 
have  attained  some  useful  art  or  science  ; and 
that  only  to  attain  a short  revel  of  his  senses, 
under  a stupor  of  faith,  honour,  and  conscience  ! 
No ; the  destruction  of  a well-educated  young 
woman  is  not  accomplished  by  the  criminal  who 
is  guilty  of  it,  in  a sudden  start  of  desire  ; he  is 
•not  surprised  into  it  by  frailty  ; but  arrives  at 
it  by  care,  skill,  and  meditation.  It  is  no  small 
aggravation  of  the  guilt,  that  it  is  a thousand 
times  conquered  and  resisted,  even  while  it  is 
prosecuted.  He  that  waits  for  fairer  occasions, 
for  riper  wishes,  for  the  removal  of  a particular 
objection,  or  the  conquest  of  any  certain  scru- 
ple, has  it  in  his  power  to  obey  his  conscience, 
which  often  calls  him,  during  the  intrigue,  a 
villain  and  a destroyer.  There  can  be  nothing 
said  for  such  an  evil  : but  that  the  restraints  of 
shame  and  ignominy  are  broken  down  by  the 
prevalence  of  custom.  I do  not,  indeed,  expect 
that  my  precautions  will  have  any  great  weight 
with  men  of  mode ; but  I know  not  but  they 
may  be  some  way  efficacious  on  those  who  have 
not  yet  taken  their  party,  as  to  vice  and  virtue, 
for  life  ; but  I know  not  how  it  is,  but  our  sex 


has  usurped  a certain  authority  to  exclude  chas- 
tity  out  of  the  catalogue  of  masculine  virtues 
by  which  means  females  adventure  all  against 
those  who  have  nothing  to  lose  ; and  they  have  | 
nothing  but  empty  sighs,  tears,  and  reproaches,  < 
against  those  who  reduced  them  to  real  sorrow  • 
and  infamy.  But  as  I am  now  talking  to  the 
world  yet  untainted,  I will  venture  to  recom- 
mend chastity  as  the  noblest  male  qualification. 

It  is,  rnethinks,  very  unreasonable,  that  the  i 
difficulty  of  attaining  all  other  good  habits  is 
what  makes  them  honourable,  but  in  this  case 
the  very  attempt  is  become  ridiculous.  But,  in 
spite  of  all  the  raillery  of  the  world,  truth  is 
still  truth,  and  will  have  beauties  inseparable 
from  it.  I should  upon  this  occasion  bring  ex- 
amples  of  heroic  chastity,  were  I not  afraid  of 
having  my  paper  thrown  away  by  the  modish 
part  of  the  town,  who  go  no  farther,  at  best, 
than  the  mere  absence  of  ill,  and  are  contented 
to  be  rather  irreproachable  than  praiseworthy. 

In  this  particular,  a gentleman  in  the  court  of 
Cyrus  reported  to  his  majesty  the  charms  and 
beauty  of  Panthea,  and  ended  his  panegyric  by 
telling  him,  that  sinee  he  was  at  leisure  he 
would  carry  Jiim  to  visit  her : but  that  prince, 
who  is  a very  great  man  to  this  day,  answered  the 
pimp,  because  he  was  a man  of  quality,  with- 
out roughness,  and  said  with  a smile,  ‘ If  I 
should  visit  her  upon  your  introduction  now  I 
have  leisure,  I don’t  know  but  I might  go  again 
upon  her  own  invitation  when  I ought  to  be 
better  employed.’  But  when  I cast  about  all 
the  instances  which  I have  met  with  in  all  my 
reading,  I find'*  not  one  so  generous,  so  honest, 
and  so  noble,  as  that  of  Joseph  in  holy  writ. 
When  his  master  had  trusted  him  so  unreserved- 
ly (to  speak  it  in  the  emphatical  manner  of  the 
scripture)  ‘ He  knew  not  aught  he  had  save  the 
bread  which  he  did  eat,’  he  was  so  unhapp)'  as 
to  appear  irresistibly  beautiful  to  his  mistress; 
but  when  this  shameless  woman  proceeds  to 
solicit  him,  how  gallant  is  his  answer  ! ‘ Behold 
my  master  wotteth  not  what  is  with  me  in  the 
house,  and  hath  committed  all  that  he  hath  to 
my  hand,  there  is  none  greater  in  the  house  than 
1,  neither  hath  he  kept  back  any  thing  from  me 
but  thee,  because  thou  art  his  wife.’  The  same 
argument,  which  a base  mind  would  have  made 
to  itself  for  committing  the  evil,  was  to  this 
brave  man  the  greatest  motive  for  forbearing 
it,  that  he  could  do  it  with  impunity ; the  ma- 
lice  and  falsehood  of  the  disappointed  woman 
naturally  arose  on  that  occasion,  and  there  is 
but  a short  step  from  the  practice  of  virtue,  to 
the  hatred  of  it.  It  would  therefore  be  worth 
serious  consideration  in  both  sexes,  and  the 
matter  is  of  importance  enough  to  them,  to  ask 
themselves  whether  they  would  change  light- 
ness of  heart,  indolence  of  mind,  cheerful  meals, 
untroubled  slumbers,  and  gentle  dispositions, 
for  a constant  pruriency,  which  shuts  out  all 
things  that  are  great  or  indifferent,  clouds  the 
imagination  with  insensi!)ility  and  prejudice  to 
all  manner  of  delight,  but  that  which  is  com- 
mon to  all  creatures  that  extend  their  species. 

A loose  behaviour  and  an  inattention  to  every 
thing  that  is  serious,  flowing  from  some  degree 
of  this  petulancy,  is  observable  in  the  generality 
of  the  youth  of  both  se.xes  in  this  cge.  It  is 


No.  46.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


67 


the  one  common  face  of  most  public  meetings, 
and  breaks  in  upon  the  sobriety,  I will  not  say 
severity,  that  we  ought  to  exercise  in  churches. 
The  pert  boys  and  flippant  girls  are  but  faint 
followers  of  those  in  the  same  inclinations,  at 
more  advanced  years.  I know  not  who  can 
oblige  them  to  mend  their  manners ; all  that  I 
pretend  to  is,  to  enter  my  protest  that  they  are 
neither  fine  gentlemen  nor  fine  ladies  for  this 
behaviour.  As  for  the  portraitures  which  I 
would  propose  as  the  images  of  agreeable  men 
and  women,  if  they  are  not  imitated  or  regarded, 
I can  only  answer,  as  I remember  Mr.  Dryden 
did  on  the  like  occasion,  when  a young  fellow, 
just  come  from  the  play  of  Cleomenes,  told  him 
in  raillery  against  the  continency  of  his  princi- 
pal character,  if  I had  been  alone  with  a lady  I 
should  not  have  passed  my  time  like  your  Spar- 
tan ; ‘ That  may  be,’  answered  the  bard,  with  a 
very  grave  face,  ‘ but  give  me  leave  to  tell  you, 
sir,  you  are  no  hero.’ 


No.  46.]  Monday,  May  4,  1713. 

Sola  est  ccBlesti  digna  reperta  toro. 

Onid,  Lib.  3.  Ep.  i.  118. 

Alone  found  worthy  a celestial  bed. 

Yesterday,  at  my  lady  Lizard’s  tea-table,  the 
discourse  happened  to  turn  upon  women  of  re- 
nown ; such  as  have  distinguished  themselves  in 
the  world  by  surprising  actions,  or  by  any  great 
and  shining  qualities,  so  as  to  draw  upon  them, 
selves  the  envy  of  their  own  sex,  and  the  ad- 
miration of  ours.  My  lady  has  been  curious 
in  collecting  the  lives  of  the  most  famous,  of 
which  she  has  a considerable  number  both  in 
print  and  manuscript.  This  naturally  led  me 
to  speak  of  madam  Maintenon ; and,  at  the 
request  of  my  lady  and  her  daughters,  I have 
undertaken  to  put  together  such  circumstances 
of  her  life,  as  I had  formerly  gathered  out  of 
books,  and  picked  up  from  conversation  in  my 
travels. 

Madam  Maintenon  was  born  a gentlewo- 
man, her  name  is  Frances  Daubigne.  Monsieur 
Daubigne,  her  grandfather,  was  not  only  a per- 
son of  condition,  but  likewise  of  great  merit. 
He  was  born  in  the  year  1550,  and  died  in  1630, 
the  eightieth  year  of  his  age.  A little  before 
his  death  he  writ  his  own  epitaph,  which  is  en- 
graven upon  his  tomb-stone  in  the  cloister  of 
St.  Peter’s  church  at  Geneva,  and  may  be  seen 
in  Spon’s  history  of  that  republic.  He  was  a 
leading  man  among  tlie  protestants  in  France, 
and  much  courted  to  come  over  to  the  opposite 
party.  When  he  perceived  there  was  no  safety 
for  him  any  longer  in  his  own  country,  he  fled 
for  refuge  to  Geneva,  about  the  year  1619.  The 
magistrates  and  the  clergy  there,  received  him 
with  great  marks  of  honour  and  distinction : 
and  he  passed  the  remaining  part  of  his  life 
amongst  them  in  great  esteem.  Mezeray  (the 
French  historian)  says,  that  he  was  a man  of 
great  courage  and  boldness,  of  a ready  wit,  and 
of  a fine  taste  in  polite  learning,  as  well  as  of 
good  experience  in  matters  of  war. 

The  son  of  this  Daubigne  w'as  father  to  the 
present  madam  Maintenon.  This  gentleman  I 


was  thrown  into  prison  when  he  was  but  a 
youth,  for  what  reason  I cannot  learn  ; but  his 
life  it  seems,  was  in  question,  if  the  keeper  of 
the  prison’s  daughter  (touched  with  his  mis- 
fortunes and  his  merit)  had  not  determined  with 
herself  to  set  him  at  liberty.  Accordingly,  a 
favourable  opportunity  presenting  itself,  she  set 
the  prisoner  at  large,  and  accompanied  him  her- 
self in  his  flight.  The  lovers  finding  them- 
selves now  in  no  danger  of  being  apprehended, 
monsieur  Daubigne  acquitted  himself  of  the 
promise  he  had  given  his  fair  deliverer,  and 
married  her  publicly.  To  provide  against  their 
immediate  want  in  a strange  place,  she  had 
taken  with  her  what  she  found  at  home  most 
valuable  and  easy  to  be  carried  off.  All  this 
was  converted  into  money  ; and  while  their 
little  treasure  lasted,  our  new-married  couple 
thought  themselves  the  happiest  persons  living. 
But  their  provisions  now  began  to  fail,  and  mon- 
sieur Daubigne,  who  plainly  saw  the  straits  to 
which  they  must  be  in  a little  time  reduced,  not- 
withstanding all  his  love  and  tenderness,  thought 
he  should  soon  be  in  a far  worse  condition,  than 
that  from  which  he  had  so  lately  escaped.  But 
what  most  afflicted  him  was  to  see  that  his 
wife,  whom  he  loved  so  tenderly,  must  be  re- 
duced to  the  utmost  necessity,  and  that  too  at  a 
time  when  she  was  big  with  child. 

Monsieur  Daubigne,  pressed  wuth  these  dif- 
ficulties, formed  to  himself  a very  hazardous 
resolution ; and  since  the  danger  he  saw  in  it 
was  only  to  his  person,  he  put  it  in  execution 
without  ever  consulting  his  wife.  The  purpose 
he  entered  upon,  was  to  venture  back  into 
France,  and  to  endeavour  there  to  get  up  some 
of  his  effects,  and  in  a short  time  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  returning  to  iiis  wife  with  some  lit- 
tle means  of  subsistence.  He  flattered  himself, 
that  lie  was  now  no  longer  thought  of  in  his  own 
country,  and  that,  by  the  help  of  a friend,  he 
might  continue  there  unknown  for  some  time. 
But  upon  trial  it  happened  quite  otherwise,  for 
he  was  betrayed  by  those  in  whom  he  confided  ; 
so  that  he  was  a second  time  cast  into  prison. 

I should  have  mentioned,  that  he  left  his  wife 
wdthout  ever  taking  leave  : and  that  the  first 
notice  she  had  of  his  design  was  by  a letter, 
which  he  sent  her  from  the  place  where  he  lay 
the  first  night.  Upon  the  reading  of  it,  she  was 
immediately  alarmed  for  the  life  of  a husband 
so  very  dear  to  her ; but  she  fell  into  the  last 
affliction  when  she  received  the  news  of  his 
being  imprisoned  again,  of  which  she  had  been 
apprehensive  from  the  beginning.  When  her 
concern  was  a little  abated,  she  considered  that 
the  afflicting  of  herself  could  give  him  no  re- 
lief ; and  despairing  ever  to  be  able  a second 
time  to  bring  about  the  delivery  of  her  husband, 
and  likewise  finding  it  impossible  for  her  to  live 
long  separated  from  him,  she  resolved  to  share 
in  his  misfortunes,  and  to  live  and  die  with  him 
in  his  prison.  Therefore,  without  the  least  re- 
gard to  the  danger  of  a woman’s  travelling  in 
her  condition  (for  she  was  now  far  gone  with 
child)  she  entered  upon  her  journey,  and  having 
found  out  her  husband,  voluntarily  gave  herself 
up  to  remain  a prisoner  with  him.  And  here 
it  was  that  she  was  delivered  of  that  daughter, 
who  has  since  proved  the  wonder  of  her  age. 


G8 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  47. 


The  relations  of  monsieur  Daubign4,  dissatis- 
fied with  his  conduct  and  his  marriage,  had  all 
of  them  abandoned  him,  excepting  madam  Vil- 
lete,  his  sister,  who  used  to  visit  him.  She  could 
not  but  be  touched  with  the  condition  in  which 
she  found  him,  entirely  destitute  of  all  the  con- 
veniences, and  almost  the  very  necessaries  of 
life.  But  that  which  most  moved  her  compas- 
sion was,  to  see  in  the  arms  of  a disconsolate 
mother,  the  poor  helpless  infant  exposed  amidst 
her  cries,  to  cold,  to  nakedness,  and  hunger.  In 
this  extremity  madam  Villete  took  the  child 
home  with  her,  and  gave  her  to  the  care  of  her 
daughter’s  nurse,  with  whom  she  was  bred  up 
for  some  time,  as  a foster-sister.  Besides  this, 
she  sent  the  two  prisoners  several  necessaries. 
Some  time  after,  monsieur  Daubigne  found 
means,  by  changing  his  religion,  to  get  out  of 
prison,  upon  condition  he  would  quit  the  king- 
dom ; to  which  he  consented. 

Monsieur  Daubigne,  knowing  he  was  never 
like  to  see  France  more,  got  together  what  little 
substance  he  could,  in  order  to  make  a long  voy- 
age; and  so,  with  a small  family,  he  embarked 
for  America ; where  he  and  his  wife  lived  in 
quiet,  and  made  it  their  principal  care  to  give 
their  children  (a  son  and  a daughter)  good 
education. 

These  unfortunate  parents  died  both  in  their 
exile,  leaving  their  children  very  young.  The 
daughter  who  was  elder  than  her  brother,  as 
she  grew  up  began  to  be  very  desirous  of  seeing 
her  native  country ; this,  together  with  the 
hopes  she  had  of  recovering  something  of  that 
which  once  belonged  to  her  father,  made  her 
willing  to  take  the  first  opportunity  of  returning 
into  France.  Finding  therefore  a ship  that  was 
ready  to  sail  thither,  she  went  on  board,  and 
landed  at  Roehelle.  From  thence  she  proceeded 
direetly  to  Poitou,  and  there  made  it  her  business 
first,  to  inquire  out  madam  Villete,  her  aunt,  who 
she  knew  very  well  was  the  person  to  whom 
she  owed  her  life.  Madam  Villete  reeeived  her 
with  great  marks  of  affection  ; and  after  inform- 
ing her,  that  she  must  not  expect  to  recover  any 
thing  of  what  had  belonged  to  her  father,  since 
that  was  all  irreparably  lost  and  dissipated  by 
his  banishment,  and  the  proceedings  against 
him,  she  added,  that  she  should  be  welcome,  if 
she  thought  fit,  to  live  with  her,  where  at  least 
she  should  never  be  reduced  to  want  a subsist- 
ence. 

Mademoiselle  Daubigne  accepted  the  offer 
which  her  aunt  made  her,  and  studied  by  all 
means  imaginable  to  render  herself  necessary 
and  agreeable  to  a person  upon  whom  she  saw 
that  she  must  entirely  depend  for  every  thing. 
More  especially  she  made  it  her  business  to  in- 
sinuate herself  into  the  affecfions  of  her  cousin, 
with  whom  she  had  one  common  nurse.  And, 
to  omit  nothing  that  might  please  them,  she  ex- 
pressed a great  desire  to  be  instructed  in  the 
religion  of  her  ancestors  ; she  was  impatient  to 
have  some  conversation  with  ministers,  and  to 
frequent  their  sermons  ; so  that  in  a short  time 
she  began  to  take  a great  liking  to  the  protest- 
ant  religion.  And  it  is  not  to  be  doubted,  but 
that  she  would  have  openly  professed  this  way 
of  worship,  if  some  of  her  father’s  relations 
that  were  papists,  and  who  forsook  him  in  his 


adversity,  had  not,  to  make  their  own  court, 
been  busy  in  advertising  some  great  men  of  the 
danger  mademoiselle  Daubigne  was  in  as  to  her 
salvation,  and  in  demanding  thereupon  an  order 
to  have  her  put  into  the  hands  of  catholics. 
This  piece  of  zeal  was  acceptable  to  the  ruling 
party,  and  orders  were  immediately  given  that 
she  should  be  taken  from  her  aunt  Villete,  and 
put  into  the  hands  of  her  officious  relations. 
This  was  soon  executed ; and  mademoiselle 
Daubigne  was  in  a manner  forced  by  violence 
from  madam  Villete,  who  was  the  only  relation 
that  ever  had  taken  any  care  of  her.  She  shed 
abundance  of  tears  at  parting,  and  assured  her 
aunt,  and  her  cousin  (who  was  now  married  to 
monsieur  Saint  Hermine)  that  she  should  al- 
ways preserve,  with  the  remembrance  of  their 
kindness,  the  good  impressions  she  had  received 
of  their  religion,  and  never  fail  to  acknowledge 
both  the  one  and  the  other,  when  she  found  a 
time  and  occasion  proper  for  it. 


No.  47.]  Tuesday,  May  5,  1713. 

Mademoiselle  Daubigne  was  conducted  from 
madam  Villete’s  to  a relation,  who  had  a law- 
suit then  depending  at  Paris ; and  being  for 
that  reason  obliged  to  go  thither,  she  carried 
mademoiselle  Daubigne  with  her.  This  lady 
hired  apartments  in  the  same  house  where  the 
famous  Scaron  was  lodged.  She  made  an  ac- 
quaintance with  him  ; and  one  day,  being  obliged 
to  go  abroad  alone  upon  a visit,  she  desired  he 
would  give  her  cousin  leave,  in  the  mean  time, 
to  come  and  sit  with  him  ; knowing  very  well 
that  a young  lady  was  in  no  danger  from  such 
a person,  and  that  perhaps  it  might  turn  to  her 
advantage.  Monsieur  Scaron  was,  of  all  men 
living,  the  most  unhappy  in  an  untoward  frame 
of  body,  being  not  only  deformed,  but  likewise 
very  infirm.  In  consideration  of  his  wit  and 
parts,  he  had  a yearly  pension  from  the  court 
of  five  hundred  crowns.  Scaron  was  charmed 
with  the  conversation  of  mademoiselle  Daubig- 
ne ; and  her  kinswoman  took  frequent  opportu- 
nities of  leaving  her  with  him.  This  gave  Sca- 
ron occasion  to  discover  still  new  beauties  in  her 
from  time  to  time.  She  would  sometimes  en- 
tertain him  with  the  story  of  her  adventures 
and  her  misfortunes,  beginning  even  with  what 
she  suffered  before  she  was  born  ; all  which  she 
knew  how  to  describe  in  so  expressive  and 
moving  a manner,  that  he  found  himself  touched 
with  a strong  compassion  towards  her  ; and  re- 
solved with  himself,  if  not  to  make  her  happy, 
at  least  to  set  her  at  ease,  by  placing  her  in  a 
nunnery  at  his  own  expense.  But  upon  further 
deliberation  he  found  himself  very  much  in- 
clined to  lay  before  her  an  alternative,  which, 
in  all  likelihood,  she  never  expected.  One  day, 
therefore,  when  she  was  left  alone  with  him,  as 
usual,  he  opened  his  intentions  to  her  (as  it  is 
said)  much  after  the  following  manner  : ‘ I am, 
mademoiselle,’  says  he,  ‘ not  a little  moved  with 
your  misfortunes,  and  the  great  sufferings  you 
have  undergone.  I am  likewise  very  sensible 
of  the  uneasy  circumstances  under  which  you 
labour  at  present ; and  I have  now  for  some 


No.  47.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


69 


days  been  contriving  with  myself  how  to  ex- 
tricate you  out  of  all  your  difficulties.  At  last 
I have  fallen  upon  two  ways  of  doing  what 
I so  much  desire;  I leave  you  to  determine 
according  to  your  inclinations,  in  the  choice  of 
the  one  or  the  other  : or,  if  neither  of  them 
please  you,  to  refuse  them  both.  My  fortunes 
are  too  narrow  to  enable  me  to  make  yours  an- 
swerable  to  your  merit ; all  that  I am  capable 
of  doing  is,  either  to  make  you  a joint  partaker 
with  myself  of  the  little  I have,  or  to  place  you, 
at  my  own  expense,  in  any  convent  you  shall 
choose.  I wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  do  more 
for  you.  Consult  your  own  inclinations,  and  do 
what  you  think  will  be  most  agreeable  to  your- 
self. As  for  my  person,  I do  not  pretend  to 
recommend  it  to  you ; I know  I make  but  an 
ungainly  figure ; but  I am  not  able  to  new- 
mould  it ; I offer  myself  to  you  such  as  I am  ; 
and  yet,  such  as  you  see  me,  I do  assure  you 
that  I would  not  bestow  myself  upon  another  ; 
and  that  I must  have  a very  great  esteem  for 
you,  ever  to  propose  a marriage,  which,  of  all 
things  in  the  world,  I have  had  the  least  in  my 
thoughts  hitherto.  Consider,  therefore,  and  take 
your  final  resolutions,  either  to  turn  nun,  or  to 
marry  me,  or  to  continue  in  your  present  con- 
dition, without  repining,  since  these  do  all  of 
them  depend  upon  your  own  choice. 

Mademoiselle  Daubigne  returned  monsieur 
Scaron  the  thanks  he  so  well  deserved.  She 
was  too  sensible  of  the  disagreeableness  of  a 
dependant  state,  not  to  be  glad  to  accept  of  a 
settlement  that  would  place  her  at  least  above 
want.  Finding,  therefore,  in  herself  no  call 
towards  a nunnery,  she  answered  monsieur 
Scaron  without  hesitation,  that,  ‘she  had  too 
great  a sense  of  her  obligations  to  him  not  to 
be  desirous  of  that  way  of  life  that  would  give 
her  the  most  frequent  occasions  of  showing  her 
gratitude  to  him.’  Scaron,  who  was  prepos- 
sessed with  the  flattering  hopes  of  passing  his 
life  with  a person  he  liked  so  well,  was  charmed 
with  her  answer.  They  both  came  to  a resolu- 
tion, that  he  should  ask  her  relation’s  consent 
that  very  evening.  She  gave  it  very  frankly ; 
and  this  marriage,  so  soon  concluded,  was,  as 
it  were,  the  inlet  to  all  the  future  fortunes  of 
madam  Maintenon.  She  made  a good  wife  to 
Scaron,  living  happily  with  him,  and  wanted  no 
conveniences  during  his  life ; but  losing  him, 
she  lost  all : his  pension  ceased  upon  his  death ; 
and  she  found  herself  again  reduced  to  the  same 
indigent  condition  in  which  she  had  been  be- 
fore her  marriage. 

Upon  this  she  retired  into  the  convent  in  the 
Place  Royale,  founded  for  the  relief  of  necessi- 
tous persons  ; where  the  friends  of  her  deceased 
husband  took  care  of  her.  It  was  here  the 
friendship  between  her  and  madam  Saint  Basile 
(a  nun)  had  its  beginning,  which  has  continued 
ever  since,  for  she  still  goes  to  visit  her  fre- 
quently in  the  convent  de  la  Raquette,  where 
she  now  lives.  And,  to  the  honour  of  madam 
Maintenon,  it  must  be  allowed,  that  she  has 
always  been  of  a grateful  temper,  and  mindful, 
in  her  high  fortunes,  of  her  old  friends,  to  whom 
she  had  formerly  been  obliged. 

Her  husband’s  friends  did  all  they  could  to 
prevail  upon  the  court  to  continue  to  her  the 


pension  which  monsieur  Scaron  had  enjoyed. 
In  order  to  this,  petitions  were  frequently  given 
in,  whieh  began  always  with,  ‘The  widow 
Scaron  most  humbly  prays  your  majesty,’  &c. 
But  all  these  petitions  signified  nothing;  and 
the  king  was  so  weary  of  them  that  he  has  been 
heard  to  say,  ‘ Must  I always  be  pestered  with 
the  widow  Scaron  ?’  Notwithstanding  which, 
her  friends  were  resolved  not  to  be  discouraged 
in  their  endeavours  to  serve  her. 

After  this,  she  quitted  the  eonvent,  and  went 
to  live  in  the  hotel  d’Albert,  where  her  husband 
had  always  been  very  much  esteemed.  Here 
(it  is  said)  something  very  remarkable  happen- 
ed to  her,  which  I shall  relate,  because  I find  it 
so  confidently  affirmed  upon  the  knowledge  of 
a certain  author.  *There  were  masons  at  work 
in  the  hotel  d’Albert,  not  far  from  the  apart- 
ment of  madam  Scaron.  One  of  them  came 
into  her  chamber,  and,  finding  two  or  three 
visitants  of  her  own  sex,  desired  he  might  speak 
with  her  in  private ; she  carried  him  into  her 
closet,  where  he  took  upon  him  to  tell  her  all 
the  future  events  of  her  life.  But  whence  he 
drew  this  knowledge  (continues  my  author,) 
which  time  has  so  wonderfully  verified,  is  a 
mystery  still  to  me.  As  to  madam  Scaron,  she 
saw  then  so  little  appearance  of  probability  in 
his  predictions,  that  she  hardly  gave  the  least 
heed  to  them.  Nevertheless,  the  company,  upon 
her  return,  remarked  some  alteration  in  her 
countenance  ; and  one  of  the  ladies  said,  ‘ Surely 
this  man  has  brought  you  some  very  pleasing 
news,  for  you  look  with  a more  cheerful  air 
than  you  did  before  he  came  in.’  ‘ There  would 
be  sufficient  reason  for  my  doing  so,’  replied 
she,  ‘ if  I could  give  any  credit  to  what  this  fel- 
low has  promised  me.  And  I can  tell  you,’ 
says  she,  smiling,  ‘ that  if  there  should  be  any 
thing  in  it,  you  will  do  well  to  begin  to  make 
your  court  to  me  beforehand.’  These  ladies 
could  not  prevail  upon  her  to  satisfy  their  cu- 
riosity any  farther  ; but  she  communicated  the 
whole  secret  to  a bosom  friend  after  they  were 
gone ; and  it  is  from  that  lady  it  came  to  be 
known,  when  the  events  foretold  were  come  to 
pass,  and  so  scrupulous  a secrecy  in  that  point 
did  no  longer  seem  necessary. 

Some  time  after  this,  she  was  advised  to  seek 
all  occasions  of  insinuating  herself  into  the  fa- 
vour of  madam  Mountespan,  who  was  the  king’s 
mistress,  and  had  an  absolute  influence  over 
him.  Madam  Scaron,  therefore,  found  the 
means  of  being  presented  to  madam  Mountes- 
pan, and  at  that  time  spoke  to  her  with  so  good 
a grace,  that  madam  Mountespan,  pitying  her 
circumstances,  and  resolving  to  make  them 
more  easy,  took  upon  her  to  carry  a petition 
from  her  to  the  king,  and  to  deliver  it  with  her 
own  hands.  The  king,  upon  her  presenting  it 
to  him,  said,  ‘ What ! the  widow  Searon  again  ? 
Shall  I never  see  any  thing  else  V ‘ Indeed, 
sir,’  says  madam  Mountespan,  ‘ it  is  now  a long 
time  since  you  ought  not  to  have  had  her  name 
mentioned  to  you  any  more  ; and  it  is  something 
extraordinary  that  your  majesty  has  done  no- 
thing all  this  while  for  a poor  woman,  who, 
without  exception,  deserves  a much  better  con- 
dition, as  well  upon  the  account  of  her  own 
merit,  as  of  the  reputation  of  her  late  husband.’ 


70 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  48. 


The  king,  who  was  always  glad  of  an  opportu- 
nity to  please  madam  Mountespan,  granted  the 
petitioner  all  that  was  desired.  Madam  Scaron 
came  to  thank  her  patroness;  and  madam 
Mountespan  took  such  a liking  to  her,  that  she 
would  by  all  means  present  her  to  the  king, 
and,  after  that,  proposed  to  him,  that  she  might 
be  made  governante  to  their  children.  His 
majesty  consented  to  it ; and  madam  Scaron,  by 
her  address  and  good  conduct,  won  so  much 
upon  the  affections  and  esteem  of  madam  Moun- 
tespan, that  in  a little  time  she  became  her  fa- 
vourite and  confidant. 

It  happened  one  night  that  madam  Mountes- 
pan sent  for  her,  to  tell  her,  that  she  was  in 
great  perplexity.  She  had  just  then,  it  seems, 
received  a billet  from  the  ki^^,  which  required 
an  immediate  answer ; and  though  she  did  by 
no  means  want  wit,  yet  in  that  instant  she 
found  herself  incapable  of  writing  any  thing 
with  spirit.  In  the  mean  time  the  messenger 
waited  for  an  answer,  while  she  racked  her  in- 
vention to  no  purpose.  Had  there  been  nothing 
more  requisite,  but  to  say  a few  tender  things, 
she  needed  only  to  have  copied  the  dictates  of 
her  heart ; but  she  had,  over  and  above,  the  re- 
putation of  her  style  and  manner  of  writing  to 
maintain,  and  her  invention  played  her  false  in 
so  critical  a juncture.  This  reduced  her  to  the 
necessity  of  desiring  madam  Scaron  to  help  her 
out;  and  giving  her  the  king’s  billet,  she  bid 
her  make  an  answer  to  it  immediately.  Madam 
Scaron  would,  out  of  modesty,  have  excused 
herself ; but  madam  Mountespan  laid  her  abso- 
lute commands  upon  her  : so  that  she  obeyed, 
and  writ  a most  agreeable  billet,  full  of  wit  and 
tenderness.  Madam  Mountespan  was  very 
much  pleased  with  it,  she  copied  it,  and  sent  it. 
The  king  was  infinitely  delighted  with  it.  He 
thought  madam  Mountespan  had  surpassed  her- 
self ; and  he  attributed  her  more  than  ordinary 
wit  upon  this  occasion  to  an  increase  of  tender- 
ness. The  principal  part  of  his  amusement 
that  night,  was  to  read  over  and  over  again  this 
letter,  in  which  he  discovered  new  beauties 
upon  every  reading.  He  thought  himself  the 
happiest  and  the  most  extraordinary  man  liv- 
ing, to  be  able  to  inspire  his  mistress  with  such 
surprising  sentiments  and  turns  of  wit. 

Next  morning,  as  soon  as  he  was  drest,  he 
went  directly  to  make  a visit  to  madam  Moun- 
tespan. ‘What  happy  genius,  madam,’  says 
he,  upon  his  first  coming  into  her  chamber, 
‘influenced  your  thoughts  last  night 7 Never 
certainly  was  there  any  thing  so  charming, 
and  so  finely  writ,  as  the  billet  you  sent  me  ! 
and  if  you  truly  feel  the  tenderness  you  have  so 
well  described,  my  happiness  is  complete.’  Ma- 
dam Mountespan  was  in  confusion  with  these 
praises,  which  properly  belonged  to  another; 
and  she  could  not  help  betraying  something  of 
it  by  her  blushes.  The  king  perceived  the  dis- 
order  she  was  in,  and  was  earnest  to  know  the 
cause  of  it.  She  would  fain  have  put  it  off ; but 
the  king’s  curiosity  still  increasing,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  excuses  she  made,  she  was  forced  to 
tell  him  all  that  had  passed,  lest  he  should  of 
himself  imagine  something  worse.  The  king 
was  extremely  surprised,  though  in  civility  he 
dissembled  his  thoughts  at  that  time,  neverthe- 


less he  could  not  help  desiring  to  see  the  author 
of  the  letter  that  had  pleased  him  so  much  ; to 
satisfy  himself  whether  her  wit  in  conversation 
was  equal  to  what  it  appeared  in  writing. 
Madam  Scaron  now  began  to  call  to  mind  the 
predictions  of  the  mason ; and  from  the  desire 
the  king  liad  to  see  her,  conceived  no  small 
hopes.  Notwithstanding  she  now  had  passed 
the  flower  of  her  age,  yet  she  flattered  herself 
that  her  destiny  had  reserved  this  one  conquest 
in  store  for  her,  and  this  mighty  monarch  to  be 
her  captive.  She  was  exactly  shaped,  had  a 
noble  air,  fine  eyes,  and  a delicate  mouth,  with 
fresh  ruddy  lips.  She  has,  besides,  the  art  of 
expressing  every  thing  with  her  eyes,  and  of 
adjusting  her  looks  to  her  thoughts  in  such  a 
manner,  that  all  she  says  goes  directly  to  the 
heart.  The  king  was  already  prepossest  in  her 
favour ; and,  after  three  or  four  times  convers- 
ing with  her,  began  visibly  to  cool  in  his  affec- 
tions towards  madam  Mountespan. 

The  king  in  a little  time  purchased  for  madam 
Scaron  those  lands  which  carry  the  name  of 
Maintenon,  a title  which  she  from  that  time 
has  taken.  Never  was  there  an  instance  of 
any  favourite  having  so  great  a power  over  a 
prince,  as  what  she  has  liitherto  maintained. 
None  can  obtain  the  least  favour  but  by  imme- 
diate application  to  her.  Some  are  of  opinion 
that  she  has  been  the  occasion  of  all  the  ill 
treatment  which  the  protestants  have  met  with, 
and  consequently  of  the  damage  the  whole 
kingdom  has  received  from  those  proceedings. 
But  it  is  more  reasonable  to  think  that  whole 
revolution  was  brought  about  by  the  contriv- 
ances of  the  Jesuits ; and  she  has  always  been 
known  to  be  too  little  a favourer  of  that  order 
of  men  to  promote  their  intrigues.  Besides,  it 
is  not  natural  to  think  that  she,  who  formerly 
had  a good  opinion  of  the  reformed  religion, 
and  was  pretty  well  instructed  in  the  protestant 
faith  and  way  of  worship,  should  ever  be  the 
author  of  a persecution  against  those  innocent 
people,  who  never  had  in  any  thing  offended 
her. 


No.  48.]  Wednesday,  May  6,  1713. 

It  is  the  general  opinion,  that  madam  Main- 
tenon  has  of  late  years  influenced  all  the  mea- 
sures of  the  court  of  France.  The  king,  when 
he  has  taken  the  air  after  dinner,  never  fails  of 
going  to  sit  with  her  till  about  ten  o’clock ; at 
which  time  he  leaves  her  to  go  to  his  supper. 
The  comptroller  general  of  the  finances  like- 
wise comes  to  her  apartments  to  meet  the  king. 
While  they  are  in  discourse  madarn  Mainte- 
non sits  at  her  wheel  towards  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  not  seeming  to  give  the  least  atten- 
tion to  what  is  said.  Nevertheless,  the  minis- 
ter never  makes  a proposition  to  the  king,  but 
his  majesty  turns  towards  her,  and  says,  ‘What 
think  you,  madam,  of  this  ?’  She  expresses  her 
opinion  after  a modest  manner  ; and  whatsoever 
she  says  is  done.  Madam  Maintenon  never  ap- 
pears in  public  except  when  she  goes  with  the 
king  to  take  the  air  ; and  then  she  sits  on  the 
same  seat  with  the  king,  with  her  spectacles  on, 
working  a piece  of  embroidery,  and  does  not 


r 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


71 


No.  48.] 

seem  to  be  so  much  as  sensible  of  the  great  for- 
tunes and  honours  to  which  she  has  raised  her- 
self. Slie  is  always  very  modestly  drest,  and 
never  appears  with  any  train  of  servants.  Every 
' morning  she  goes  to  St.  Cyr,  to  give  her  orders 
there,  it  being  a kind  of  a nursery  founded  by 
herself  for  the  education  of  young  ladies  of  good 
families,  but  no  fortune.  She  returns  from 
: thence  about  the  time  the  king  rises,  whenever 

i fails  to  pay  her  a morning  visit.  She  goes  to 
I mass  always  by  break  of  day,  to  avoid  the  con- 
i course  of  people.  She  is  rarely  seen  by  any, 
and  almost  inaccessible  to  every  body,  excepting 
three  or  four  particular  acquaintance  of  her 

Iown  sex.  Whether  it  be,  that  she  would  by 
j this  conduct  avoid  envy,  as  some  think;  or,  as 
' others  would  have  it,  that  she  is  afraid  tlie  rank 
which  she  thinks  due  to  her  should  be  disputed 
I in  all  visits  and  public  places,  is  doubtful.  It 
is  certain,  that  upon  all  occasions  she  declines 
the  taking  of  any  rank ; and  the  title  of  mar- 
quisse  (which  belongs  to  the  lands  the  king  pur- 
j chased  for  her)  is  suppressed  before  her  name  ; 
i;  neither  will  she  accej)t  of  the  title  of  a duchess, 
aspiring  in  all  probability  at  something  still 
higher,  as  will  appear  by  what  follows. 

From  several  particulars  in  the  conduct  of  the 
French  king,  as  well  as  in  that  of  madam 
Maintenon,  it  has  for  some  years  been  the  pre- 
vailing opinion  of  the  court  that  they  are  mar- 
l ried.  And  it  is  said,  that  her  ambition  of  being 
declared  queen  broke  out  at  last;  and  that  she 
was  resolved  to  give  the  king  no  quiet  till  it  was 
I done.  He  for  some  time  resisted  all  her  solicit- 
ations upon  that  head,  but  at  length,  in  a fit  of 
j tenderness  and  good  nature,  he  promised  her, 
that  he  would  consult  his  confessor  upon  that 
point.  Madam  Maintenon  was  pleased  with 
this,  not  doubting  but  that  father  La  Chaise 
would  be  glad  of  this  occasion  of  making  his 
court  to  her  ; but  he  was  too  subtle  a courtier 
not  to  perceive  the  danger  of  engaging  in  so 
nice  an  affair  ; and  for  that  reason  evaded  it, 
by  telling  the  king,  that  he  did  not  think  him- 
self a casuist  able  enough  to  decide  a question 
I of  so  great  importance,  and  for  that  reason  de- 
sired he  might  consult  with  some  man  of  skill 
i and  learning,  for  whose  secrecy  he  would  be 
responsible.  The  king  was  apprehensive  lest 
I this  might  make  the  matter  too  public  ; but  as 
soon  as  father  La  Chaise  named  monsieur  Fene- 
lon,  the  archbishop  of  Catnbray,  his  fears  were 
over  ; and  he  bid  him  go  and  find  him  out.  As 
soon  as  the  confessor  had  comtnunicated  the  busi- 
ness he  came  upon  to  the  bishop,  he  said,  ‘ What 
have  I done,  father,  that  you  should  ruin  me ! 
But  ’tis  no  matter  ; let  us  go  to  the  king.’  His 
majesty  was  in  his  closet  expecting  them.  The 
bishop  was  no  sooner  entered,  but  he  threw 
himself  at  the  king’s  feet,  and  begged  of  him 
not  to  sacrifice  him.  The  king  promised  him 
that  he  would  not ; and  then  proposed  the  case 
to  him.  The  bishop,  with  his  usual  sincerity, 
represented  to  him  the  great  prejudice  he  would 
do  himself  by  declaring  his  marriage,  together 
with  the  ill  consequences  that  might  attend  such 
a proceeding.  The  king  very  much  approved 
his  reasons,  and  resolved  to  go  no  farther  in 
this  affair.  Madam  Maintenon  still  pressed 
him  to  comply  with  her,  but  it  was  now  all  to 


no  purpose  ; and  he  told  her  it  was  not  a thing 
to  be  done.  She  asked  him,  if  it  was  father  La 
Chaise  who  dissuaded  him  from  it.  He  for 
some  time  refused  to  give  her  any  answer,  but 
at  last  overcome  by  her  importunities,  he  told 
her  every  thing  as  it  had  passed.  She  upon 
this  dissembled  her  resentment,  that  she  might 
be  the  more  able  to  make  it  prove  effectual.  She 
did  by  no  means  think  the  Jesuit  was  to  be  for- 
given ; but  the  first  marks  of  her  vengeance  fell 
upon  the  archbishop  of  Cambray.  He  and  all 
his  relations  were,  in  a little  time,  put  out  of  all 
their  employments  at  court ; upon  which  he 
retired  to  live  quietly  upon  his  bishopric  ; and 
there  have  no  endeavours  been  spared  to  deprive 
him  even  of  that.  As  a farther  instance  of  the 
uncontrollable  power  of  this  great  favourite, 
and  of  her  resenting  even  the  most  trivial  mat- 
ters that  she  thinks  might  tend  to  her  prejudice, 
or  the  diminution  of  her  honour,  it  is  remarka- 
ble,  that  the  Italian  comedians  were  driven  out 
of  Paris,  for  playing  a comedy  called  La  Fausse 
Prude,  which  was  supposed  to  reflect  upon  ma- 
dam Maintenon  in  particular. 

It  is  something  very  extraordinary,  that  she 
has  been  able  to  keep  entire  the  affections  of  the 
king  so  many  years,  after  her  youth  and  beauty 
were  gone,  and  never  fall  into  the  least  dis- 
grace ; notwithstanding  the  number  of  enemies 
she  has  had,  and  the  intrigues  that  have  been 
formed  against  her  from  time  to  time.  This 
brings  into  my  memory  a saying  of  king  Wil- 
liam’s, that  I have  heard  on  this  occasion  ; 

That  the  king  of  France  was  in  his  conduct 
quite  opposite  to  other  princes  ; since  he  made 
choice  of  young  ministers,  and  an  old  mistress. 
But  this  lady’s  charms  have  not  lain  so  much 
in  her  person,  as  in  her  wit  and  good  sense. 
She  has  always  had  the  address  to  flatter  the 
vanity  of  the  king,  and  to  mix  always  some- 
thing solid  and  useful  with  the  more  agreeable 
parts  of  her  conversation.  She  has  known  how 
to  introduce  the  most  serious  affairs  of  state 
into  their  hours  of  pleasure ; by  telling  his  ma- 
jesty, that  a monarch  should  not  love,  nor  do 
any  thing,  like  other  men;  and  that  he,  of  all 
men  living,  knew  best  how  to  be  always  a king 
and  alw'ays  like  himself,  even  in  the  midst  of 
his  diversions.  The  king  now  converses  with 
her  as  a friend,  and  advises  with  her  upon  his 
most  secret  affairs.  He  has  a true  love  and 
esteem  for  her ; and  has  taken  care,  in  case  he 
should  die  before  her,  that  she  may  pass  the  re- 
mainder of  her  life  with  honour,  in  the  abbey 
of  St.  Cyr.  There  are  apartments  ready  fitted 
up  for  her  in  this  place  ; she  and  all  her  domes- 
tics  are  to  be  maintained  out  of  the  rents  of  the 
house,  and  she  is  to  receive  all  the  honours  due 
to  a foundress.  This  abbey  stands  in  the  park 
of  Versailles;  it  is  a fine  piece  of  building,  and 
the  king  has  endowed  it  with  large  revenues. 
The  design  of  it,  (as  I have  mentioned  before) 
is  to  maintain  and  educate  young  ladies,  whose 
fortunes  do  not  answer  to  their  birth.  None  are 
accounted  duly  qualified  for  this  place  but  such 
as  can  give  sufficient  proofs  of  the  nobility  of 
their  family  on  the  father’s  side  for  a hundred 
and  forty  years;  besides  which,  they  must  have 
a certificate  of  their  poverty  under  the  hand  of 
their  bishop.  The  age  at  which  persons  are 


1-2 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


capable  of  being  admitted  here  is  from  seven 
years  old  till  twelve.  Lastly,  it  is  required,  that 
they  should  have  no  defect  or  blemish  of  body 
or  mind;  and  for  this  reason  there  are  persons 
appointed  to  visit  and  examine  them  before  they 
are  received  into  the  college.  When  these  young 
ladies  are  once  admitted,  their  parents  and  rela- 
tions have  no  need  to  put  themselves  to  any 
farther  expense  or  trouble  about  them.  They 
are  provided  with  all  necessaries  for  mainte- 
nance and  education.  They  style  themselves 
of  the  order  of  St.  Lewis.  When  they  arrive 
to  an  age  to  be  able  to  choose  a state  of  life  for 
themselves,  they  may  either  be  placed  as  nuns 
in  some  convent  at  the  king’s  expense,  or  be 
married  to  some  gentleman,  whom  madam 
Maintenon  takes  care,  upon  that  condition,  to 
provide  for,  either  in  the  army  or  in  the  finances ; 
and  the  lady  receives  besides,  a portion  of  four 
hundred  pistoles.  Most  of  these  marriages 
have  proved  very  successful ; and  several  gentle- 
men have  by  them  made  great  fortunes,  and 
been  advanced  to  very  considerable  employ- 
ments. 

I must  conclude  this  short  account  of  madam 
Maintenon  with  advertising  my  readers,  that  I 
do  not  pretend  to  vouch  for  the  several  particu- 
lars that  I have  related.  All  I can  say  is,  that 
a great  many  of  them  are  attested  by  several 
writers;  and  that  I thought  this  sketch  of  a 
woman  so  remarkable  all  over  Europe,  would 
be  no  ill  entertainment  to  the  curious,  till  such 
a time  as  some  pen,  more  fully  instructed  in  her 
whole  life  and  character,  shall  undertake  to 
give  it  to  the  public. 


No.  49.]  Thursday,  May  7,  1713. 

quae  possit  facere  et  servare  beatum. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  vi.2. 

To  make  men  happy  and  to  keep  them  so. 

Creech. 

It  is  of  great  use  to  consider  the  pleasures 
which  constitute  human  happiness,  as  they  are 
distinguished  into  natural  and  fantastical.  Na- 
tural pleasures  I call  those,  which,  not  depend- 
ing on  the  fashion  and  caprice  of  any  particular 
age  or  nation,  are  suited  to  human  nature  in 
general,  and  were  intended  by  Providence  as 
rewards  for  the  using  our  faculties  agreeably  to 
the  ends  for  which  they  were  given  us.  Fan- 
tastical pleasures  are  those  which,  having  no 
natural  fitness  to  delight  our  minds,  pre-sup- 
pose  some  particular  whim  or  taste  accidentally 
prevailing  in  a set  of  people,  to  which  it  is 
owing  that  they  please. 

Now  I take  it,  that  the  tranquillity  and  cheer- 
fulness with  which  I have  passed  my  life,  are 
the  effect  of  having,  ever  since  I came  to  years 
of  discretion,  continued  my  inclinations  to  the 
former  sort  of  pleasures.  But  as  my  experience 
can  be  a rule  only  to  my  own  actions,  it  may 
probably  be  a stronger  motive  to  induce  others 
to  the  same  scheme  of  life,  if  they  would  con- 
sider that  we  are  prompted  to  natural  pleasures 
by  an  instinct  impressed  on  our  minds  by  the 
Author  of  our  nature,  who  best  understands  our 
frames,  and  consequently  best  knows  what  those 


[No.  49. 

pleasures  are  which  will  give  us  the  least  un- 
easiness in  the  pursuit,  and  the  greatest  satis- 
faction in  the  enjoyment  of  them.  Hence  it 
follows,  that  the  objects  of  our  natural  desires 
are  cheap,  or  easy  to  be  obtained,  it  being  a 
maxim  that  holds  throughout  the  whole  system 
of  created  beings,  ‘that  nothing  is  made  in 
vain,’  much  less  the  instincts  and  appetites  of 
animals,  which  the  benevolence  as  well  as  wis- 
dom of  the  Deity,  is  concerned  to  provide  for. 
Nor  is  the  fruition  of  those  objects  less  pleasing 
than  the  acquisition  is  easy  ; and  the  pleasure 
is  heightened  by  the  sense  of  having  answered 
some  natural  end,  and  the  consciousness  of 
acting  in  concert  with  the  Supreme  Governor 
of  the  universe. 

Under  natural  pleasures  I comprehend  those 
which  are  universally  suited,  as  well  to  the  ra- 
tional as  the  sensual  part  of  our  nature.  And 
of  the  pleasures  which  affect  our  senses,  those 
only  are  to  be  esteemed  natural  that  are  contain- 
ed within  the  rules  of  reason,  which  is  allowed 
to  be  as  necessary  an  ingredient  of  human  na- 
ture as  sense.  And,  indeed,  excesses  of  any 
kind  are  hardly  to  be  esteemed  pleasures,  much 
less  natural  pleasures. 

It  is  evident,  that  a desire  terminated  in  mo- 
ney is  fantastical ; so  is  the  desire  of  outward 
distinctions,  which  bring  no  delight  of  sense, 
nor  recommend  us  as  useful  to  mankind  ; and 
the  desire  of  things  merely  because  they  are 
new  or  foreign.  Men  who  are  indisposed  to  a 
due  exertion  of  their  higher  parts  are  driven  to 
such  pursuits  as  these  from  the  restlessness  of 
the  mind,  and  the  sensitive  appetites  being  easily 
satisfied.  It  is,  in  some  sort,  owing  to  the  bounty 
of  Providence,  that  disdaining  a cheap  and  vul- 
gar happiness,  they  frame  to  themselves  ima- 
ginary goods,  in  which  there  is  nothing  can 
raise  desire,  but  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  them. 
Thus  men  become  the  contrivers  of  their  own 
misery,  as  a punishment  on  themselves  for  de- 
parting from  the  measures  of  nature.  Having 
by  an  habitual  reflection  on  these  truths  made 
them  familiar,  the  effect  is,  that  I,  among  a 
number  of  persons  who  have  debauched  their 
natural  taste,  see  things  in  a peculiar  light, 
which  I have  arrived  at,  not  by  any  uncommon 
force  of  genius,  or  acquired  knowledge,  but  only 
by  unlearning  the  false  notions  instilled  by  cus- 
tom and  education. 

The  various  objects  that  compose  the  world 
were  by  nature  formed  to  delight  our  senses,  and 
as  it  is  this  alone  that  makes  them  desirable  to 
an  uncorrupted  taste,  a man  may  be  said  natu- 
rally to  possess  them,  when  he  possesseth  those 
enjoyments  which  they  are  fitted  by  nature  to 
yield.  Hence  it  is  usual  with  me  to  consider 
myself  as  having  a natural  property  in  every 
object  that  administers  pleasure  to  me.  When 
I am  in  the  country,  all  the  fine  seats  near  the 
place  of  my  residence,  and  to  which  I have  ac- 
cess, I regard  as  mine.  The  same  I think  of 
the  groves  and  fields  where  I walk,  and  muse  on 
the  folly  of  the  civil  landlord  in  London,  who 
has  the  fantastical  pleasure  of  draining  dry  rent 
into  his  coffers,  but  is  a stranger  to  fresh  air  and 
rural  enjoyments.  By  these  principles  I am 
possessed  of  half  a dozen  of  the  finest  seats  in 
England,  which  in  the  eye  of  the  law  belong  to 


No.  50.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


73 


certain  of  my  acquaintance,  who  being  men  of 
business  choose  to  live  near  the  court. 

In  some  great  families,  where  I choose  to  pass 
my  time,  a stranger  would  be  apt  to  rank  me 
with  the  other  domestics ; but  in  my  own 
thoughts,  and  natural  judgment,  I am  master 
of  the  house,  and  he  who  goes  by  that  name  is 
my  steward,  who  eases  me  of  the  care  of  pro- 
viding for  myself  the  conveniences  and  plea- 
sures of  life. 

When  I walk  the  streets,  I use  the  foregoing 
natural  maxim  (viz.  That  he  is  the  true  posses- 
sor of  a thing  who  enjoys  it,  and  not  he  that 
owns  it  without  the  enjoyment  of  it,)  to  con- 
vince myself  that  I have  a property  in  the  gay 
part  of  all  the  gilt  chariots  that  I meet,  which  I 
regard  as  amusements  designed  to  delight  my 
eyes,  and  the  imagination  of  those  kind  people 
who  sit  in  them  gaily  attired  only  to  please  me. 

I have  a real,  and  they  only  an  imaginary  plea- 
sure from  their  exterior  embellishments.  Upon 
the  same  principle,  I have  discovered  that  I am 
the  natural  proprietor  of  all  the  diamond  neck- 
laces, the  crosses,  stars,  brocades,  and  embroi- 
dered clothes,  which  I see  at  a play  or  birth- 
night,  as  giving  more  natural  delight  to  the 
spectator  than  to  those  that  wear  them.  And  I 
look  on  the  beaux  and  ladies  as  so  many  paro- 
quets in  an  aviary,  or  tulips  in  a garden,  de- 
signed purely  for  my  diversion.  A gallery  of 
pictures,  a cabinet,  or  library,  that  I have  free 
access  to,  I think  my  own.  In  a word,  all  that 
I desire  is  the  use  of  things,  let  who  will  have 
the  keeping  of  them.  By  which  maxim  I am 
grown  one  of  the  richest  men  in  Great  Britain  ; 
with  this  difference,  that  I am  not  a prey  to  my 
own  cares,  or  the  envy  of  others. 

The  same  principles  I find  of  great  use  in  my 
private  economy.  As  I cannot  go  to  the  price 
of  history. painting,  I have  purchased  at  easy 
rates  several  beautifully  designed  pieces  of  land- 
scape and  perspective,  which  are  much  more 
pleasing  to  a natural  taste  than  unknown  faces 
or  Dutch  gambols,  though  done  by  the  best  mas- 
ters ; my  couches,  beds,  and  window-curtains 
are  of  Irish  stuff,  which  those  of  that  nation 
work  very  fine,  and  with  a delightful  mix- 
ture of  colours.  There  is  not  a piece  of  china 
in  my  house  ; but  I have  glasses  of  all  sorts,  and 
some  tinged  with  the  finest  colours,  which  are 
not  the  less  pleasing,  because  they  are  domes- 
tic, and  cheaper  than  foreign  toys.  Every  thing 
is  neat,  entire,  and  clean,  and  fitted  to  the  taste 
of  one  who  had  rather  be  happy  than  be  thought 
rich. 

Every  day,  numberless  innocent  and  natural 
gratifications  occur  to  me,  while  I behold  my 
fellow-creatures  labouring  in  a toilsome  and  ab- 
surd pursuit  of  trifles  ; one  that  he  may  be  called 
by  a particular  appellation;  another,  that  he 
may  wear  a particular  ornament,  which  I re- 
gard as  a bit  of  riband  that  has  an  agreeable 
effect  on  my  sight,  but  is  so  far  from  supplying 
the  place  of  merit  where  it  is  not,  that  it  serves 
only  to  make  the  want  of  it  more  conspicuous. 
Fair  weather  is  the  joy  of  my  soul ; about  noon 
I behold  a blue  sky  with  rapture,  and  receive 
great  consolation  from  the  rosy  dashes  of  light 
which  adorn  the  clouds  of  the  morning  and 
evening.  When  I am  lost  among  green  trees 
K 


I do  not  envy  a great  man  with  a great  crowd 
at  his  levee.  And  I often  lay  aside  thoughts  of 
going  to  an  opera,  that  I may  enjoy  the  silent 
pleasure  of  walking  by  moonlight,  or  viewing 
the  stars  sparkle  in  their  azure  ground  ; which 
I look  upon  as  part  of  my  possessions,  not  with- 
out  a secret  indignation  at  the  tastelessness  of 
mortal  men,  who  in  their  race  through  life  over- 
look the  real  enjoyments  of  it. 

But  the  pleasure  which  naturally  affects  a hu- 
man mind  wuth  the  most  lively  and  transporting 
touches,  I take  to  be  the  sense  that  we  act  in 
the  eye  of  infinite  wisdom,  power,  and  goodness, 
that  will  crown  our  virtuous  endeavours  here, 
with  a happiness  hereafter,  large  as  our  desires, 
and  lasting  as  our  immortal  souls.  This  is  a 
perpetual  spring  of  gladness  in  the  mind.  This 
lessens  our  calamities,  and  doubles  our  joys. 
Without  this  the  highest  state  of  life  is  insipid 
and  with  it  the  lowest  is  a paradise.  Whatun 
natural  wretches  then  are  those  who  can  be  so 
stupid  as  to  imagine  a merit,  in  endeavouring 
to  rob  virtue  of  her  support,  and  a man  of  his 
present  as  well  as  future  bliss  ? But  as  I have 
frequently  taken  occasion  to  animadvert  on  that 
species  of  mortals,  so  I propose  to  repeat  my  ani- 
madversions on  them  till  I see  some  symptoms 
of  amendment. 


No.  50.]  Friday,  May  8,  1713. 

O rus,  quando  ego  te  aspiciam  ? 

Ilor.  Lib.  2.  Sat.  vi.  60. 

O!  when  shall  I enjoy  my  country  seat? 

Creech. 

The  perplexities  and  diversions,  recounted  in 
the  following  letter,  are  represented  with  some 
pleasantry  ; I shall,  therefore,  make  this  epistle 
the  entertainment  of  the  day. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘ Sir, — The  time  of  going  into  the  country 
drawing  near,  I am  extremely  enlivened  with 
the  agreeable  memorial  of  every  thing  that  con- 
tributed to  my  happiness  when  I was  last  there. 
In  the  recounting  of  which,  T shall  not  dwell  so 
much  upon  the  verdure  of  the  fields,  the  shade 
of  woods,  the  trilling  of  rivulets,  or  melody  of 
birds,  as  upon  some  particular  satisfactions, 
which,  though  not  merely  rural,  must  naturally 
create  a desire  of  seeing  that  place,  where  only 
I have  met  with  them.  As  to  my  passage  I 
shall  make  no  other  mention,  than  of  the  pomp, 
ous  pleasure  of  being  whirled  along  with  six 
horses,  the  easy  grandeur  of  lolling  in  a hand- 
some chariot,  the  reciprocal  satisfaction  the  in- 
habitants of  all  towns  and  villages  received  from, 
and  returned  to,  passengers  of  such  distinction. 
The  gentleman’s  seat(wuth  whom,  among  others, 
I had  the  honour  to  go  down)  is  the  remains  of 
an  ancient  castle  which  has  suffered  very  much 
for  the  loyalty  of  its  inhabitants.  The  ruins  of 
the  several  turrets  and  strong  holds  gave  my 
imagination  more  pleasant  e.xercise  than  the 
most  magnificent  structure  could,  as  I look  upon 
the  honourable  wounds  of  a defaced  soldier  with 
more  veneration  than  the  most  exact  proportion 


74 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


of  a beautiful  woman.  As  this  desolation  re- 
newed in  me  a general  remembrance  of  the  ca- 
lamities of  the  late  civil  wars,  I began  to  grow 
desirous  to  know  the  history  of  the  particular 
scene  of  action  in  this  place  of  my  abode.  I here 
must  beseech  you  not  to  think  me  tedious  in 
mentioning  a certain  barber,  who,  for  his  gene- 
ral knowledge  of  things  and  persons,  may  be 
had  in  equal  estimation  with  any  of  that  order 
among  the  Romans.  This  person  was  allowed 
to  be  the  best  historian  upon  the  spot;  and  the 
sequel  of  my  tale  will  discover  that  I did  not 
choose  him  so  much  for  the  soft  touch  of  his 
hand,  as  his  abilities  to  entertain  me  with  an 
account  of  the  Leaguer  Time,  as  he  calls  it,  the 
most  authentic  relations  of  which,  through  all 
parts  of  the  town,  are  derived  from  this  person. 
I found  him,  indeed,  extremely  loquacious,  but 
withal  a man  of  as  much  veracity  as  an  impetu- 
ous speaker  could  be.  The  first  time  he  came 
to  shave  me,  before  he  applied  his  weapon  to  my 
chin,  he  gave  a flourish  with  it,  very  like  the 
salutation  the  prize-fighters  give  the  company 
with  theirs,  which  made  me  apprehend  incision 
would  as  certainly  ensue.  The  dexterity  of  this 
overture  consists  in  playing  the  razor,  with  a 
nimble  wrist,  mighty  near  the  nose  without 
touching  it:  convincing  him,  therefore,  of  the 
dangerous  consequence  of  such  an  unnecessary 
agility,  with  much  persuasion  I suppressed  it. 
During  the  perusal  of  my  face  he  gives  me  such 
accounts  of  the  families  in  the  neighbourhood, 
as  tradition  and  his  own  observation  have  fur- 
nished him  with.  Whenever  the  precipitation 
of  his  account  makes  him  blunder,  his  cruel 
right  hand  corresponds,  and  the  razor  discovers 
on  my  face,  at  what  part  of  it  he  was  in  the 
peaceable,  and  at  what  part  in  the  bloody  inci- 
dents of  his  narrative.  But  I had  long  before 
learned  to  expose  my  person  to  any  difficulties 
that  might  tend  to  the  improvement  of  my  mind. 
His  breath,  I found,  was  very  pestilential,  and 
being  obliged  to  utter  a great  deal  of  it,  for  the 
carrying  o.n  his  narrations,  I beseeched  him,  be- 
fore he  came  into  my  room,  to  go  into  the  kitchen 
and  mollify  it  with  a breakfast.  When  he  had 
taken  off  my  beard,  with  part  of  my  face,  and 
dressed  my  wounds  in  the  capacity  of  a barber- 
surgeon,  we  traversed  the  outworks  about  the 
castle,  where  I received  particular  information 
in  what  places  any  of  note  among  the  besiegers, 
or  the  besieged,  received  any  wound,  and  I was 
carried  always  to  the  very  spot  where  the  fact 
was  done,  howsoever  dangerous  (scaling  part  of 
the  walls,  or  stumbling  over  loose  stones)  my  ap- 
proach to  such  a place  might  be  ; it  being  con- 
ceived impossible  to  arrive  at  a true  knowledge 
of  those  matters  without  this  hazardous  expla- 
nation upon  them  ; insomuch  that  I received 
more  contusions  from  these  speculations,  than  I 
probably  could  have  done,  had  I been  the  most 
bold  adventurer  at  the  demolition  of  this  castle. 
This,  as  all  other  his  informations,  the  barber  so 
lengthened  and  husbanded  with  digressions,  that 
he  had  always  something  new  to  offer,  wisely 
concluding  that  when  he  had  finished  the  part 
of  a historian,  I should  have  no  occasion  for  him 
as  a barber. 

‘ Whenever  I looked  at  this  ancient  pile  of 
building,  I thought  it  perfectly  resembled  any 


[No.  50. 

of  those  castles,  which  in  my  infancy  I had  met 
with  in  romances,  where  several  unfortunate 
knights  and  ladies,  were,  by  certain  giants, 
made  prisoners  irrecoverably,  till  “ the  knight 
of  the  burning  pestle,”  or  any  other  of  equal 
hardiness,  should  deliver  them  from  a long  cap- 
tivity. There  is  a park  adjoining,  pleasant  be- 
yond the  most  poetical  description,  one  part  of 
which  is  particularly  private  by  being  inacces- 
sible to  those  that  have  not  great  resolution. 
This  I have  made  sacred  to  love  and  poetry, 
and  after  having  regularly  invoked  the  goddess 
I adore,  I here  compose  a tender  couplet  or  two, 
which,  when  I come  home,  I venture  to  show 
my  particular  friends,  who  love  me  so  well  as 
to  conceal  my  follies.  After  my  poetry  sinks 
upon  me,  I relieve  the  labour  of  my  brain  by  a 
little  manuscript  with  my  pen-knife ; while, 
with  Rochester, 

“ Here  on  a beech,  like  amorous  sot,. 

I sometime  carve  a true-love’s  knot ; 

There  a tall  oak  her  name  does  bear, 

In  a large  spreading  character.” 

‘ I confess  once  whilst  I was  engraving  one 
of  my  most  curious  conceits  upon  a delicate, 
smooth  bark,  my  feet,  in  the  tree  which  I had 
gained  with  much  skill,  deserted  me ; and  the 
lover,  with  much  amazement,  came  plump  into 
the  river  ; I did  not  recover  the  true  spirit  of 
amour  under  a week,  and  not  without  applying 
myself  to  some  of  the  softest  passages  in  Cas- 
sandra and  Cleopatra. 

‘ These  are  the  pleasures  I met  without 
doors;  those  within  were  as  follow.  I had  the 
happiness  to  lie  in  a room  that  had  a large  hols 
opening  from  it,  which,  by  unquestionaWe  tra- 
dition, had  been  formerly  continued  to  an  abbey 
two  miles  from  the  castle,  for  a communication 
betwixt  the  austere  creatures  of  that  place,  with 
others  not  altogether  so  contemplative.  And 
the  keeper’s  brother  assures  me,  that  when  he 
formerly  lay  in  this  room,  he  had  seen  some  of 
the  spirits  of  this  departed  brotherhood,  enter 
from  the  hole  into  this  chamber,  where  they 
continued  with  the  utmost  civility  to  flesh  and 
blood,  till  they  were  oppressed  by  the  morning 
air.  And  if  I do  not  receive  his  aecount  with 
a very  serious  and  believing  countenance,  he 
ventures  to  laugh  at  me  as  a most  ridieulous 
infidel.  The  most  unaceountable  pleasure  I 
take  is  with  a fine  white  young  owl,  which 
strayed  one  night  in  at  my  window,  and  which 
I was  resolved  to  make  a prisoner,  but  withal 
to  give  all  the  indulgence  that  its  confinement 
could  possibly  admit  of.  I so  far  insinuated 
myself  into  his  favour,  by  presents  of  fresh  pro- 
visions, that  we  could  be  very  good  company 
together.  There  is  something  in  the  eye  of 
that  creature,  of  such  merry  lustre,  something 
of  such  human  cunning  in  the  turn  of  his 
visage,  that  I found  vast  delight  in  the  survey 
of  it.  One  objection  indeed  I at  first  saw,  that 
this  bird  being  the  bird  of  Pallas,  the  choiee  of 
this  favourite  might  afford  curious  matter  of 
raillery  to  the  ingenious,  especially  when  it 
shall  be  known,  that  I am  as  much  delighted 
with  a cat  as  ever  Montaigne  was.  But,  not- 
withstanding this,  I am  so  far  from  being 
ashamed  of  this  particular  humour,  that  I es- 
teem myself  very  happy  in  having  my  odd  taste 


No.  51.  j 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


75 


of  pleasure  provided  for  upon  such  reasonable 
terms.  What  heightened  all  the  pleasures  I 
have  spoke  of,  was  the  agreeable  freedom  with 
which  the  gentleman  of  the  house  entertained 
us ; and  every  one  of  us  came  into,  or  left  the 
company  as  he  thought  fit;  dined  in  his  cham- 
ber, or  the  parlour,  as  a fit  of  spleen  or  study 
directed  him ; nay,  sometimes  every  man  rode 
or  walked  a different  way,  so  that  we  never 
, were  together  but  when  we  were  perfectly 
I pleased  with  ourselves  and  each  other.  I am, 
sir,  your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 

, ‘R.  B.’ 

P.  S.  I had  just  given  my  orders  for  the  press, 
when  my  friend  Mrs.  Bicknell  made  me  a visit. 
She  came  to  desire  I would  show  her  the  ward- 
, ; robe  of  the  Lizards,  (where  the  various  habits 
i:  of  the  ancestors  of  that  illustrious  family  are 

preserved,)  in  order  to  furnish  her  with  a pro- 
per dress  for  the  Wife  of  Bath.  Upon  sight  of 
the  little  ruffs,  she  snatched  one  of  them  from 
the  pin,  clapt  it  round  her  neck,  and,  turning 
briskly  towards  me,  repeated  a speech  out  of  her 
part  in  the  comedy  of  that  name.  If  the  rest 
of  the  actors  enter  into  their  several  parts  with 
the  same  spirit,  the  humourous  characters  of 
this  play  cannot  but  appear  excellent  on  the 
I theatre : for  very  good  judges  have  informed 
• me,  that  the  author  has  drawn  them  with  great 
I propriety,  and  an  exact  observation  of  the  man- 
I ners.  NESTOR  IRONSIDE. 


No.  51.]  Saturday,  May  9,  1713. 

Res  antiquse  laudis  et  artis 

I Ingredtor,  sanctos  ausus  recludeie  fontes. 

Firg.  Georg,  ii.  174. 

Of  arts  disclos’d  in  ancient  days,  I sing, 

And  venture  to  unlock  the  sacred  spring. 

It  is  probable  the  first  poets  were  found  at 
the  altar,  that  they  employed  their  talents  in 
adorning  and  animating  the  worship  of  their 
gods:  the  spirit  of  poetry  and  religion  recipro- 
cally  warmed  each  other,  devotion  inspired 
poetry,  and  poetry  exalted  devotion ; the  most 
sublime  capacities  were  put  to  the  most  noble 
use ; purity  of  will,  and  fineness  of  understand- 
I ing,  were  not  such  strangers  as  they  have  been 
in  latter  ages,  but  were  most  frequently  lodged 
in  the  same  breast,  and  went,  as  it  were,  hand 
in  hand  to  the  glory  of  the  world’s  great  Ruler, 
and  the  benefit  of  mankind.  To  reclaim  our 
modern  poetry,  and  turn  it  into  its  due  and 
primitive  channel,  is  an  endeavour  altogether 
worthy  a far  greater  character  than  the  Guar- 
dian of  a private  family.  Kingdoms  might  be 
the  better  for  the  conversion  of  the  muses  from 
sensuality  to  natural  religion,  and  princes  on 
their  thrones  might  be  obliged  and  protected  by 
its  power. 

Were  it  modest,  I should  profess  myself  a 
great  admirer  of  poesy,  but  that  profession  is  in 
effect  telling  the  world  that  I have  a heart  ten- 
der and  generous,  a heart  that  can  swell  with 
the  joys,  or  be  depressed  with  the  misfortunes 
of  others,  nay,  more,  even  of  imaginary  per- 
sons ; a heart  large  enough  to  receive  the  great- 
est ideas  nature  can  suggest,  and  delicate 


enough  to  relish  the  most  beautiful;  it  is  desir- 
ing mankind  to  believe  that  I am  capable  of 
entering  into  all  those  subtle  grace.®,  and  all 
that  divine  elegance,  the  enjoyment  of  which  is 
to  be  felt  only,  and  not  expressed. 

All  kinds  of  poesy  are  amiable;  but  sacred 
poesy  should  be  our  most  especial  delight. 
Other  poetry  leads  us  through  flowery  meadows 
or  beautiful  gardens,  refreshes  us  with  cooling 
breezes  or  delicious  fruits,  sooths  us  with  t!ie 
murmur  of  waters  or  the  melody  of  birds,  or 
else  conveys  us  to  the  court  or  camp ; dazzles 
our  imagination  with  crowns  and  sceptres,  em- 
battled hosts,  or  heroes  shining  in  burnished 
steel;  but  sacred  numbers  seem  to  admit  us 
into  a solemn  and  magnificent  temple,  they  en- 
circle us  with  every  thing  that  is  holy  and  divine, 
they  superadd  an  agreeable  awe  and  reverence 
to  all  those  pleasing  emotions  we  feel  from  other 
lays,  an  awe  and  reverence  that  exalts,  while 
it  chastises : its  sweet  authority  restrains  each 
undue  liberty  of  thought,  word,  and  action  : it 
makes  us  think  better  and  more  nobly  of  our- 
selves, from  a consciousness  of  the  great  pre- 
sence we  are  in,  where  saints  surround  us,  and 
angels  are  our  fellow  worshippers  : 

0 let  me  glory,  glory  in  my  choice  ! 

Whom  should  I sing,  but  him  who  gave  me  voice ! 
This  theme  shall  last,  when  Homer’s  shall  decay, 
When  arts,  arms,  kings,  and  kingdoms  melt  away. 
Andean  it,  powers  immortal,  can  it  be, 

Tliat  this  high  province  was  reserved  for  me  ? 
Whate’er  the  new,  the  rash  adventure  cost. 

In  wide  eternity  I dare  be  lost. 

1 dare  launch  out,  and  show  the  muses  more 
Than  e’er  the  learned  sisters  saw  before. 

In  narrow  limits  they  were  wont  to  sing. 

To  teach  the  swain,  or  celebrate  the  king: 

I grasp  the  whole,  no  more  to  parts  confin’d, 

I lift  my  voice,  and  sing  to  human  kind  ; 

I sing  to  men  and  angels ; angels  join  [mine.* 

(While  such  the  theme)  their  sacred  hymns  with 

But  besides  the  greater  pleasure  which  we 
receive  from  sacred  poesy,  it  has  another  vast 
advantage  above  all  other : when  it  has  placed 
us  in  that  imaginary  temple  (of  which  I just 
now  spoke)  methinks  the  mighty  genius  of  the 
place  covers  us  with  an  invisible  hand,  secures 
us  in  the  enjoyments  we  possess.  We  find  a 
kind  of  refuge  in  our  pleasure,  and  our  diversion 
becomes  our  safety.  Why  then  should  not  every 
heart  that  is  addicted  to  the  muses,  cry  out  in 
the  holy  warmth  of  the  best  poet  that  ever  lived, 

‘ I will  magnify  thee,  O Lord,  my  king,  and  I 
will  praise  thy  name  for  ever,  and  ever.’ 

That  greater  benefit  may  be  reaped  from 
sacred  poesy  than  from  any  other,  is  indisputa- 
ble ; but  is  it  capable  of  yielding  such  exquisite 
delight?  Has  it  a title  only  to  the  regard  of 
the  serious  and  aged  ? Is  it  only  to  be  read  on 
Sundays,  and  to  be  bound  in  black  ? Or  does 
it  put  in  for  the  good  esteem  of  the  gay,  the  for- 
tunate, the  young  ? Can  it  rival  a ball  or  a 
theatre,  or  give  pleasure  to  those  who  are  con- 
versant with  beauty,  and  have  their  palates  set 
high  with  all  the  delicacies  and  poignancy  of 
human  wit? 

That  poetry  gives  us  the  greatest  pleasure 
which  affects  us  most,  and  that  affects  us  most 
which  is  on  a subject  in  which  we  have  the 
deepest  concern ; for  this  reason  it  is  a rule  in 

* Dr.  Young’s  Last  Day,  book  ii.  7,  &c. 


76 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


epic  poetry  that  the  tale  should  be  taken  from 
the  history  of  that  country  to  which  it  is  writ- 
ten, or  at  farthest  from  their  distant  ancestors. 
Thus  Homer  sung-  Achilles  to  the  descendants 
of  Achilles ; and  Virgil  to  Augustus  that  hero’s 
voyage, 

Genus  unde  Latinum 

Albanique  patres,  atque  altce  moenia  Romae. 

JEn.  i.  6. 

From  whence  the  race  of  Alban  fathers  come, 

And  the  long  glories  of  majestic  Rome.  Dryden. 

Had  they  changed  subjects,  they  had  certainly 
been  worse  poets  at  Greece  and  Rome,  whatever 
they  had  been  esteemed  by  the  rest  of  mankind ; 
and  in  what  subjects  have  we  the  greatest  con- 
cern, but  in  those  at  the  very  thought  of  which 
‘ This  world  grows  less  and  less,  and  all  its 
glories  fade  away  ?’ 

All  other  poesy  must  be  dropt  at  the  gate  of 
death,  this  alone  can  enter  with  us  into  immor- 
tality ; it  will  admit  of  an  improvement  only, 
not  (strictly  speaking)  an  entire  alteration,  from 
the  converse  of  cherubim  and  seraphim.  It 
shall  not  be  forgotten  when  the  sun  and  moon 
are  remembered  no  more ; it  shall  never  die, 
but  (if  I may  so  express  myself)  be  the  mea- 
sure of  eternity,  and  the  laudable  ambition  of 
heaven. 

How  then  can  any  other  poesy  come  in  com- 
petition with  it  ? 

Whatever  great  or  dreadful  has  been  done, 
Witliin  the  view  of  conscious  stars  or  sun, 

Is  far  beneath  my  daring ! I look  down 
On  all  the  splendours  of  the  British  crown  ; 

This  globe  is  for  my  verse  a narrow  bound  : 
Attend  me,  all  ye  glorious  worlds  around ; 

Oh  all  ye  spirits,  howsoe'er  disjoin’d. 

Of  every  various  order,  place,  and  kind, 

Hear  and  assist  a feeble  mortal’s  lays ; 

’Tis  your  Eternal  King  I strive  to  praise. 

These  verses,  and  those  quoted  above,  are 
taken  out  of  a manuscript  poem  on  the  Last 
Day,  which  will  shortly  appear  in  public. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘Sir, — When  you  speak  of  the  good  which 
would  arise  from  the  labours  of  ingenious  men, 
if  they  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  turn  their 
thoughts  upon  the  sublime  subjects  of  religion, 
it  should,  methinks,  be  an  attractive  to  them,  if 
you  would  please  to  lay  before  them,  that  noble 
ideas  aggrandise  the  soul  of  him  who  writes 
with  a true  taste  of  virtue.  I was  just  now 
reading  David’s  lamentation  over  Saul  and  Jo- 
nathan, and  that  divine  piece  was  peculiarly 
pleasing  to  me,  in  that  there  was  such  an  ex- 
quisite sorrow  expressed  in  it  without  the  least 
allusion  to  the  difficulties  from  whence  David 
was  extricated  by  the  fall  of  those  great  men 
in  his  way  to  empire.  When  he  received  the 
tidings  of  Saul’s  death,  his  generous  mind  has 
in  it  no  reflection  upon  the  merit  of  the  unhappy 
man  who  was  taken  out  of  his  way,  but  what 
raises  his  sorrow,  instead  of  giving  him  conso- 
lation. 

“ The  beauty  of  Israel  is  slain  upon  thy  high 
places  : how  are  the  mighty  fallen  ! 

“ Tell  it  not  in  Gath,  publish  it  not  in  the 
streets  of  Askelon : Lest  the  daughters  of  the 
Philistines  rejoice,  lest  the  daughters  of  the  un- 
circumcised  triumph. 


[No.  52. 

“Ye  mountains  of  Gilboa,  let  there  be  no 
dew,  neither  let  there  be  rain  upon  you,  nor 
fields  of  offerings  : For  there  the  shield  of  the 
mighty  is  vilely  cast  away,  the  shield  of  Saul, 
as  though  he  had  not  been  anointed  with  oil. 

“ Saul  and  Jonathan  were  lovely  and  pleasant 
in  their  lives,  and  in  their  deaths  they  were  not 
divided : the)’^  were  swifter  than  eagles,  they 
were  stronger  than  lions. 

“Ye  daughters  of  Israel,  weep  over  Saul, 
who  clothed  you  in  scarlet,  with  other  delights, 
who  put  on  ornaments  of  gold  upon  your  ap- 
parel.” 

‘ How  beautiful  is  the  more  amiable  and  noble 
parts  of  Saul’s  character,  represented  by  a man 
whom  that  very  Saul  pursued  to  death ! But 
when  he  comes  to  mention  Jonathan,  the  subli- 
mity ceases,  and  not  able  to  mention  his  gene- 
rous friendship,  and  the  most  noble  instances 
ever  given  by  man,  he  sinks  into  a fondness 
that  will  not  admit  of  high  language  or  allu- 
sions to  the  greater  circumstances  of  their  life, 
and  turns  only  upon  their  familiar  converse. 

“ I am  distressed  for  thee,  my  brother  Jona- 
than ; very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto  me*; 
thy  love  to  me  was  wonderful,  passing  the  love 
of  women.” 

‘ In  the  mind  ofthis  admirable  man,  grandeur 
majesty,  and  worldly  power  were  despicable 
considerations,  when  he  cast  his  eye  upon  the 
merit  of  him  who  was  so  suddenly  snatched 
from  them  : And  when  he  began  to  think  of  the 
great  friendship  of  Jonathan,  his  panegyric  is. 
uttered  only  in  broken  exclamations,  and  tender 
expressions  of  bow  much  they  both  loved,  not 
how  much  Jonathan  deserved. 

‘ Pray  pardon  this,  which  was  to  hint  only 
that  the  virtue,  not  the  elegance  of  fine  writing, 
is  the  thing  principally  to  be  considered  by  a 
Guardian.  I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

‘ C.  F.’ 


No.  52.]  Monday,  May  11,  1713. 

toto  solus  in  orbe 

Cassar  liber  erit Lucan. 

Caesar  alone,  of  all  mankind,  is  free. 

I SHALL  not  assume  to  myself  the  merit  of 
every  thing  in  these  papers.  Wheresoever  in 
reading  or  conversation,  I observe  any  thing 
that  is  curious  and  uncommon,  useful  or  enter- 
taining, I resolve  to  give  it  to  the  public.  The 
greatest  part  of  this  very  paper  is  an  extract 
from  a French  manuscript,  which  was  lent  me 
by  my  good  friend  Mr.  Charwell.  He  tells  me 
he  has  had  it  about  these  twenty  years  in  his 
possession  ; and  he  seems  to  me  to  have  taken 
from  it  very  many  of  the  maxims  he  has  pur- 
sued in  the  new  settlement,  I have  heretofore 
spoken  of,  upon  his  lands.  He  has  given  me 
full  liberty  to  make  what  use  of  it  I shall  think 
fit : either  to  publish  it  entire,  or  to  retail  it  out 
by  pennyworths.  I have  determined  to  retail 
it,  and  for  that  end  I have  translated  divers  pas- 
sages, rendering  the  words  lime,  sous,  and  many 
others  of  known  signification  in  France,  into 
their  equivalent  sense,  that  I may  the  better  be 
understood  by  my  English  readers.  The  book 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


77 


No.  52.] 

contains  several  memoirs  concerning-  monsieur 
Colbert,  who  had  the  honour  to  be  secretary  of’ 
state  to  his  most  Christian  majesty,  and  super- 
intendant  or  chief  director  of  the  arts  and  ma- 
nufactures of  his  kingdom.  The  passage  for 
to-day  is  as  follows  : 

‘ It  happened  that  the  king  was  one  day  ex- 
pressing his  wonder  to  this  minister,  that  the 
United  Provinces  should  give  him  so  much 
trouble,  that  so  great  a monarch  as  he  was, 
should  not  be  able  to  reduce  so  small  a state, 
with  half  the  power  of  his  whole  dominions. 
To  which  monsieur  Colbert  is  said  to  have  made 
the  following  answer  : 

‘ Sir,  I presume  upon  your  indulgence  to 
speak  what  I have  thought  upon  this  subject, 
with  that  freedom  which  becomes  a faithful  ser- 
vant, and  one  who  has  nothing  more  at  heart 
than  your  majesty’s  glory  and  the  prosperity 
of  your  whole  people.  Your  territories  are 
vastly  greater  than  the  United  Netherlands ; 
but,  sir,  it  is  not  land  that  fights  against  land, 
but  the  strength  and  riches  of  one  nation,  against 
the  strength  and  riches  of  another.  I should 
have  said  only  riches,  since  it  is  money  that 
feeds  and  clothes  the  soldier,  furnishes  the  ma- 
gazine, provides  the  train  of  artillery,  and  an- 
swers the  charge  of  all  other  military  prepara- 
tions.  Now  the  riches  of  a prince,  or  state,  are 
just  so  much  as  they  can  levy  upon  their  sub- 
jects, still  leaving  them  sufficient  for  their  sub- 
sistence. If  this  shall  not  be  left,  they  will  de- 
sert to  other  countries  for  better  usage ; and  I 
am  sorry  to  say  it,  that  too  many  of  your  ma- 
jesty’s subjects  are  already  among  your  neigh- 
bours, in  the  condition  of  footmen  and  valets  for 
their  daily  bread  ; many  of  your  artisans  too 
are  fled  from  the  severity  of  your  collectors, — 
they  are  at  this  time  improving  the  manufac- 
tures of  your  enemies.  France  has  lost  the  be- 
nefit  of  their  hands  for  ever,  and  your  majesty 
all  hopes  of  any  future  excises  by  their  con- 
sumption. For  the  extraordinary  sums  of  one 
year,  you  have  parted  with  an  inheritance.  I 
am  never  able,  without  the  utmost  indignation, 
to  think  of  that  minister,  who  had  the  confi- 
dence to  tell  your  father,  his  subjects  were  but 
too  happy,  that  they  were  not  yet  reduced  to 
eat  grass : as  if  starving  his  people  were  the 
only  way  to  free  himself  from  their  seditions. 
But  people  will  not  starve  in  France,  as  long  as 
bread  is  to  be  had  in  any  other  country.  How 
much  more  worthy  of  a prince  was  that  saying 
of  your  grandfather  of  glorious  memory,  that 
he  hoped  to  see  that  day,  when  every  house- 
keeper in  his  dominions  should  be  able  to  allow 
his  family  a capon  for  their  Sunday’s  supper  ? 
I lay  down  this  therefore  as  my  first  principle, 
that  your  taxes  upon  your  subjects  must  leave 
them  sufficient  for  their  subsistence,  at  least  as 
comfortable  a subsistence  as  they  will  find 
among  your  neighbours. 

‘Upon  this  principle  I shall  be  able  to  make 
some  comparison  between  the  revenues  of  your 
majesty,  and  those  of  the  States-general.  Your 
territories  are  near  thirty  times  as  great,  your 
people  more  than  four  times  as  many,  yet  your 
revenues  are  not  thirty,  no,  nor  four  times  as 
great,  nor  indeed  as  great  again,  as  those  of  the 
United  Netherlands.’ 


‘ In  what  one  article  are  you  able  to  raise 
twice  as  much  from  your  subjects  as  the  states 
can  do  from  theirs  ? Can  you  take  twice  as 
much  from  the  rents  of  the  lands  and  houses  ? 
What  are  the  yearly  rents  of  your  whole  king- 
dom ? and  how  much  of  these  will  your  majesty 
be  able  to  take  without  ruining  the  landed  in- 
terest? You  have,  sir,  above  a hundred  millions 
of  acres,  and  not  above  thirteen  millions  of  sub- 
jects, eight  acres  to  every  subject ; how  incon- 
siderable must  be  the  value  of  land,  where  so 
many  acres  are  to  provide  for  a single  person  1 
where  a single  person  is  the  whole  market  for 
the  product  of  so  much  land  ! And  what  sort 
of  customers  are  your  subjects  to  these  lands  ? 
what  clothes  is  it  that  they  wear  ? what  provi- 
sions do  they  consume  ? Black  bread,  onions, 
and  other  roots,  are  the  usual  diet  of  the  gene- 
rality of  your  people  ; their  common  drink  the 
pure  element ; they  are  dressed  in  canvass  and 
wooden  shoes,  I mean  such  of  them  as  are  not 
bare-foot,  and  half-naked.  How  very  mean  must 
be  the  eight  acres  which  will  afford  no  better 
subsistence  to  a single  person!  Yet  so  many 
of  your  people  live  in  this  despicable  manner, 
that  four  pounds  will  be  easily  believed  to  exceed 
the  annual  expenses  of  every  one  of  them  at  a 
medium.  And  how  little  of  this  expense  will 
be  coming  to  the  land-owner  for  his  rent  ? or, 
which  is  the  satnc  thing,  for  the  mere  product 
of  his  land  ? Of  every  thing  that  is  consumed, 
the  greatest  part  of  the  value  is  the  price  of 
labour  that  is  bestowed  upon  it ; and  it  is  not  a 
very  small  part  of  their  price  that  is  paid  to 
your  majesty  in  your  excises.  Of  the  four 
pounds  expense  of  every  subject,  it  can  hardly 
be  thought  that  more  than  four-and-twenty 
shillings  are  paid  for  the  mere  product  of  the 
land.  Then  if  there  are  eight  acres  to  every 
subject,  and  every  subject  for  his  consumption 
pays  no  more  than  four-and-twenty  shillings  to 
the  land,  three  shillings  at  a medium  must  be 
the  full  yearly  value  of  every  acre  in  your  king- 
dom. Your  lands,  separated  from  the  buildings, 
cannot  be  valued  higher. 

‘ And  what  then  shall  be  thought  the  yearly 
value  of  the  houses,  or,  which  is  the  same  thing, 
of  the  lodgings  of  your  thirteen  millions  of 
subjects  ? What  numbers  of  these  are  begging 
their  bread  throughout  your  kingdom  ? If  your 
majesty  were  to  walk  incognito  through  the 
very  streets  of  your  capital,  and  would  give  a 
farthing  to  every  beggar  that  asks  you  alms  in 
a walk  of  one  hour,  you  would  have  nothing 
left  of  a pistole.  How  miserable  must  be  the 
lodgings  of  these  wretches  ! even  those  that  will 
not  ask  your  charity,  are  huddled  together,  four 
or  five  families  in  a house.  Such  is  the  lodging 
in  your  capital.  That  of  your  other  towns  is 
yet  of  less  value  ; but  nothing  can  be  more 
ruinous  than  the  cottages  in  the  villages.  Six 
shillings  for  the  lodging  of  every  one  of  your 
thirteen  millions  of  subjects,  at  a medium,  must 
needs  be  the  full  yearly  value  of  all  the  houses. 
So  that  at  four  shillings  for  every  acre,  and  six 
shillings  for  the  lodging  of  every  subject,  the 
rents  of  your  whole  kingdom  will  be  less  than 
twenty  millions,  and  yet  a great  deal  more  than 
they  were  ever  yet  found  to  be  by  the  most  ex- 
act survey  that  has  been  taken. 


78 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


*The  next  question  then  is,  how  much  of 
these  rents  your  majesty  will  think  fit  to  take 
to  your  own  use  ? Six  of  the  twenty  millions 
are  in  the  hands  of  the  clergfy;  and  little 
icnough  for  the  support  of  three  hundred  thou- 
«and  ecclesiastics,  with  all  their  necessary  at- 
tendants ; it  is  no  more  than  twenty  pounds  a 
year  for  overy  one  of  the  masters.  These,  sir, 
are  your  best  guards  ; they  keep  your  subjects 
loyal  in  the  midst  of  all  their  misery.  Your 
majesty  will  not  think  it  your  interest  to  take 
any  thing  from  the  church.  From  that  which 
remains  in  the  hands  of  your  lay  subjects,  will 
you  be  able  to  take  more  than  five  millions  to 
your  own  use?  This  is  more  than  seven  shillings 
in  the  pound ; and  then,  after  necessary  repara- 
tions, together  with  losses  by  the  failing  of 
tenants,  how  very  little  will  be  left  to  the  owners. 
These  are  gentlemen  who  have  never  been  bred 
either  to  trade  or  manufactures,  they  have  no 
other  way  of  living  than  by  their  rents ; and 
when  these  shall  be  taken  from  them,  they  must 
fly  to  your  armies,  as  to  an  hospital,  for  their 
daily  bread. 

‘Now'  sir,  your  majesty  will  give  me  leave 
to  examine  what  are  the  rents  of  the  United 
Netherlands,  and  how  great  a part  of  these 
their  governors  may  take  to  themselves,  with- 
out oppression  of  the  owners.  There  are  in 
those  provinces  three  millions  of  acres,  and  as 
many  millions  of  subjects,  a subject  for  every 
acre.  Why  should  not  then  the  single  acre 
there,  be  as  valuable  as  the  eight  acres  in 
France,  since  it  is  to  provide  for  as  many 
mouths  ? Or  if  great  part  of  the  provisions  of 
the  people  are  fetched  in  by  their  trade  from 
the  sea  or  foreign  countries,  they  will  end  at 
last  in  the  improvement  of  their  lands.  I have 
often  heard,  and  am  ready  to  believe,  that  thirty 
shillings,  one  with  another,  is  less  than  the 
yearly  value  of  every  acre  in  those  provinces. 

‘ And  how  much  less  than  this  will  be  the 
yearly  value  of  lodging  for  every  one  of  their 
subjects  ? There  are  no  beggars  in  their  streets, 
scarce  a single  one  in  a whole  province.  Their 
families  in  great  towns  are  lodged  in  palaces, 
in  comparison  with  those  of  Paris.  Even  the 
houses  in  their  villages  are  more  costly  than  in 
many  of  your  cities.  If  such  is  the  value  of 
their  three  millions  of  acres,  and  of  lodging  for 
as  many  millions  of  subjects,  the  yearly  rents 
of  lands  and  houses  are  nine  millions  in  those 
provinces. 

‘Then  how  much  of  this  may  the  States 
take  without  ruining  the  land-owners,  for  the 
defence  of  their  people  ? Their  lands  there,  by 
the  custom  of  descending  in  equal  shares  to  all 
the  children,  are  distributed  into  so  many  hands, 
that  few  or  no  persons  are  subsisted  by  their 
rents  ; land-owners,  as  well  as  others,  are  chiefly 
subsisted  by  trade  and  manufactures ; and  they 
can  therefore  with  as  much  ease  part  with  half 
of  their  whole  rents,  as  your  majesty’s  subjects 
can  a quarter.  The  States-general  may  as  well 
take  four  millions  and  a half  from  their  rents, 
as  your  majesty  can  five  from  those  of  your 
subjects. 

* It  remains  now  only  to  compare  the  excises 
of  both  countries.  And  what  excises  can  your 
majesty  hope  to  receive  by  the  consumption  of 


[No.  52. 

the  half-starved,  and  half-naked  beggars  in  your 
streets  ? How  great  a part  of  the  price  of  all 
that  is  eat,  or  drunk,  or  consumed  by  those 
wretched  creatures  ? How  great  a part  of  the 
price  of  canvas  cloth  and  wooden  shoes,  that 
are  every  where  worn  throughout  the  country  ? 
How  great  a part  of  the  price  of  their  water,  or 
their  black  bread  and  onions,  the  general  diet 
of  your  people  7 If  your  majesty  were  to  receive 
the  whole  price  of  those  things,  your  exchequer 
would  hardly  run  over.  Yet  so  much  the 
greatest  part  of  your  subjects  live  in  this  despi- 
cable manner,  that  the  annual  expense  of  every 
one  at  a medium,  can  be  no  more  than  I have 
mentioned.  One  would  almost  think  they  starve 
themselves  to  defraud  your  majesty  of  your  re- 
venues. It  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  more 
than  an  eighth  part  can  be  excised  from  the 
expenses  of  your  subjects,  who  live  so  very 
poorly,  and  then,  for  thirteen  millions  of  people, 
your  whole  revenue  by  excises  will  amount  to 
no  more  than  six  millions  and  a half. 

‘ And  how  much  less  than  this  sum  will  the 
States  be  able  to  levy  by  the  same  tax  upon 
their  subjects  ? Tliere  are  no  beggars  in  that 
country.  The  people  of  their  great  towns  live  at 
vastly  greater  charge  than  yours.  And  even 
those  in  their  villages  are  better  fed  and  clothed 
than  the  people  of  your  towns.  At  a medium, 
every  one  of  their  subjects  live  at  twice  the 
cost  of  those  of  France.  Trade  and  manufac- 
tures are  the  things  that  furnish  them  with 
money  for  this  expense.  Therefore,  if  thrice 
as  much  shall  be  excised  from  the  expense  of 
the  Hollanders,  yet  still  they  will  have  more 
left  than  the  subjects  of  your  majesty,  though 
you  should  take  nothing  at  all  from  them.  I 
must  believe  therefore  that  it  will  be  as  easy  to 
levy  thrice  as  much  by  excises  upon  the  Dutch 
subject  as  the  French,  thirty  shillings  upon  the 
former,  as  easily  as  ten  upon  the  latter,  and 
consequently  four  millions  and  a half  of  pounds 
upon  their  three  millions  of  subjects  ; so  that  in 
the  whole,  by  rents  and  excises,  they  will  be 
able  to  raise  nine  millions  within  the  year.  If 
of  this  sum,  for  the  maintenance  of  their  clergy, 
which  are  not  so  numerous  as  in  France,  the 
charge  of  their  civil  list,  and  the  preservation 
of  their  dikes,  one  million  is  to  be  deducted ; 
yet  still  they  will  have  eight  for  their  defence, 
a revenue  equal  to  two  thirds  of  your  majesty’s. 

‘Your  majesty  will  now  no  longer  w'onder 
that  you  have  not  been  able  to  reduce  these 
provinces  with  half  the  power  of  your  whole 
dominions,  yet  half  is  as  much  as  you  will  be 
ever  able  to  employ  against  them ; Spain  and 
Germany  will  be  always  ready  to  espouse  their 
quarrel,  their  forces  will  be  sufficient  to  cut  out 
work  for  the  other  half;  and  I wish  too  you 
could  be  quiet  on  the  side  of  Italy  and  England. 

‘ What  then  is  the  advice  I would  presume  to 
give  your  majesty  ? To  disband  the  greatest 
part  of  your  forces,  and  save  so  many  taxes  to 
your  people.  Your  very  dominions  make  you 
too  powerful  to  fear  any  insult  from  your  neigh- 
bours. To  turn  your  thoughts  from  war,  and 
cultivate  the  arts  of  peace,  the  trade  and  manu- 
factures of  your  people ; this  shall  make  you 
the  most  powerful  prince,  and  at  the  same  time 
your  subjects  the  richest  of  all  other  subjects. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


79 


No.  53.] 

In  the  space  of  twenty  years  they  will  be  able 
to  give  your  majesty  greater  sums  with  ease, 
than  you  can  now  draw  from  them  with  the 
greatest  difficulty.  You  have  abundant  mate- 
rials in  your  kingdom  to  employ  your  people, 
and  they  do  not  want  capacity  to  be  employed. 
Peace  and  trade  shall  carry  out  their  labour  to 
all  the  parts  of  Europe,  and  bring  back  yearly 
treasures  to  your  subjects.  There  will  be  al- 
ways fools  enough  to  purchase  the  manufactures 
of  France,  though  France  should  be  prohibited 
to  purchase  those  of  other  countries.  In  the 
mean  time  your  majesty  shall  never  want  suffi- 
cient sums  to  buy  now  and  then  an  important 
fortress  from  one  or  other  of  your  indigent 
neighbours.  But,  above  all,  peace  shall  ingra- 
tiate your  majesty  with  the  Spanish  nation,  du- 
ring the  life  of  their  crazy  king;  and  after  his 
death  a few  seasonable  presents  among  his 
courtiers  shall  purchase  the  reversion  of  his 
crowns,  with  all  the  treasures  of  the  Indies,  and 
then  the  world  must  be  your  own.’ 

This  was  the  substance  of  what  was  then 
said  by  monsieur  Colbert.  The  king  was  not 
at  all  offended  with  this  liberty  of  his  minister. 
He  knew  the  value  of  the  man,  and  soon  after 
made  him  the  chief  director  of  the  trade  and 
manufactures  of  his  people. 


No.  53.]  Tuesday^  May  12,  1713. 

Desinant 

Malediceie,  malefacta  ne  noscant  sua. 

Ter.  Prol.  ad.  Andr. 

Let  them  cease  to  speak  ill  of  others,  lest  they  hear 
of  their  own  misdeeds. 

It  happens  that  the  letter,  which  was  in  one 
of  my  papers  concerning  a lady  ill  treated  by 
the  Examiner,  and  to  which  he  replies  by  tax- 
ing the  Tatler  with  the  like  practice,  was  writ- 
ten by  one  Steele,  who  put  his  name  to  the  col- 
lection of  papers  called  lucubrations.  It  was  a 
wrong  thing  in  the  Examiner  to  go  any  farther 
than  the  Guardian  for  what  is  said  in  the  Guar- 
dian ; but  since  Steele  owns  the  letter,  it  is  the 
same  thing.  I apprehend,  by  reading  the  Ex- 
aminer over  a second  time,  that  he  insinuates, 
by  the  words  close  to  the  royal  stamp,  he  would 
have  the  man  turned  out  of  his  office.  Consi- 
dering he  is  so  malicious,  I cannot  but  think 
Steele  has  treated  him  very  mercifully  in  his 
answer,  wliich  follows.  This  Steele  is  certainly 
a very  good  sort  of  a man,  and  it  is  a thousand 
pities  he  does  not  understand  politics  ; but  if  he 
is  turned  out,  my  lady  Lizard  will  invite  him 
down  to  our  country-house.  I shall  be  very 
glad  of  his  company,  and  I ’ll  certainly  leave 
sonaething  to  one  of  his  children. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside^  Esq. 

‘Sir, — I am  obliged  to  fly  to  you  for  refuge 
from  severe  usage,  which  a very  great  author, 
the  Examiner,  has  been  pleased  to  give  me  for 
what  you  have  lately  published  in  defence  of  a 
young  lady.*  He  does  not  put  his  name  to  his 
writings,  and  therefore  he  ought  not  to  reflect 


* See  Guardian,  No.  41. 


upon  the  characters  of  those  who  publicly  an- 
swer for  what  they  have  produced.  The  Ex- 
aminer and  the  Guardian  might  have  disputed 
upon  any  particular  they  had  thought  fit,  without 
having  introduced  any  third  person,  or  making 
any  allusions  to  matters  foreign  to  the  subject 
before  them.  But  since  he  has  thought  fit,  in 
his  paper  of  May  the  eighth,  to  defend  himself 
by  my  example,  I shall  beg  leave  to  say  to  the 
town  (by  your  favour  to  me,  Mr.  Ironside)  that 
our  conduct  would  still  be  very  widely  different 
though  I should  allow  that  there  were  particu- 
lar persons  pointed  at  in  the  places  which  he 
mentions  in  the  Tatlers.  When  a satirist  feigns 
a name,  it  must  be  the  guilt  of  the  person  at- 
tacked, or  his  being  notoriously  understood 
guilty  before  the  satire  was  written,  that  can 
make  him  liable  to  come  under  the  fictitious 
appellation.  But  when  the  licence  of  printing 
letters  of  people’s  real  names  is  used,  things 
may  be  affixed  to  men’s  characters  which  are 
in  the  utmost  degree  remote  from  them.  Thus 
it  happens  in  the  case  of  the  earl  of  Notting- 
ham, whom  that  gentleman  asserts  to  have  left 
the  church  ; though  nothing  is  more  evident 
than  that  he  deserves  better  of  all  men  in  holy 
orders,  or  those  who  have  any  respect  for  them 
or  religion  itself,  than  any  man  in  England  can 
pretend  to.  But  as  to  the  instances  he  gives 
against  me  : Old  Downes  is  a fine  piece  of  rail- 
lery, of  which  I wish  I had  been  author.  All 
I had  to  do  in  it,  was  to  strike  out  what  related 
to  a gentlewoman  about  the  queen,  whom  I 
thought  a woman  free  from  ambition,  and  I did 
it  out  of  regard  to  innocence.  Powel  of  the 
Bath  is  reconciled  to  me,  and  has  made  me  free 
of  his  show.  Tun,  Gun,  and  Pistol  from  Wap- 
ping,  laughed  at  the  representation  which  was 
made  of  them,  and  were  observed  to  be  more 
regular  in  their  conduct  afterwards.  The  cha- 
racter of  lord  Timon  is  no  odious  one ; and  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Ironside,  when  I writ  it, 
I thought  it  more  like  me  myself,  than  any  other 
man ; and  if  I had  in  my  eye  any  illustrious 
person  who  had  the  same  faults  with  myself,  it 
is  no  new,  nor  very  criminal  self-love  to  flatter 
ourselves,  that  what  weaknesses  we  have,  we  have 
in  common  with  great  men.  For  the  exaltation 
of  style,  and  embellishing  the  character,  I made 
Timon  a lord,  and  he  may  be  a very  worthy  one 
for  all  that  I have  said  of  him.  I do  not  re- 
member the  mention  of  don  Diego;  nor  do  I 

remember  that  ever  I thought  of  lord  N m, 

in  any  character  drawn  in  any  one  paper  of 
Bickerstaff.  Now  as  to  Polypragmon,  I drew 
it  as  the  most  odious  image  I could  paint  of  am- 
bition ; and  Polypragmon  is  to  men  of  business 
what  sir  Fopling  Flutter  is  to  men  of  fashion. 
“ He’s  knight  of  the  shire  and  represents  you, 
all.”  Whosoever  seeks  employment  for  his  own 
private  interest,  vanity,  or  pride,  and  not  for  the 
good  of  his  prince  and  country,  has  his  share 
in  the  picture  of  Polypragmon ; and  let  this  be 
the  rule  in  examining  that  description,  and  I be- 
lieve the  Examiner  will  find  others  to  whom  he 
would  rather  give  a part  of  it,  than  to  the  per- 
son on  whom  I believe  he  bestows  it,  because 
he  thinks  he  is  the  most  capable  of  having  his 
vengeance  on  me.  But  I say  not  this  from  ter- 
rors of  what  any  man  living  can  do  to  mo : I 


80 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


speak  it  only  to  show,  that  I have  not,  like  him, 
fixed  odious  itnages  on  persons,  but  on  vices. 
Alas,  what  occasion  have  I to  draw  people  whom 
I think  ill  of,  under  feigned  names  ? I have 
wanted  and  abounded,  and  I neither  fear  poverty 
nor  desire  riches  ; if  that  be  true,  why  should 
I be  afraid,  whenever  I see  occasion  to  examine 
the  conduct  of  any  of  my  fellow-subjects  ? I 
should  scorn  to  do  it  but  from  plain  facts,  and 
at  my  own  peril,  and  from  instances  as  clear  as 
the  day.  Thus  would  I,  and  I will  (whenever 
I think  it  my  duty)  inquire  into  the  behaviour 
of  any  man  in  England,  if  he  is  so  posted,  as 
that  his  errors  may  hurt  rny  country.  This 
kind  of  zeal  will  expose  him  who  is  prompted 
by  it  to  a great  deal  of  ill-will ; and  I could 
carry  any  points  I aim  at  for  the  improvement 
of  my  own  little  affairs,  without  making  myself 
obnoxious  to  the  resentment  of  any  person  or 
party.  But,  alas  ! what  is  there  in  all  the  grati- 
fications of  sense,  the  accommodations  of  vanity, 
or  any  thing  that  fortune  can  give  to  please  a 
human  soul,  when  they  are  put  in  competition 
with  the  interests  of  truth  and  liberty  ? Mr. 
Ironside,  I confess  I writ  to  you  that  letter  con- 
cerning the  young  lady  of  quality,  and  am  glad 
that  my  awkward  apology  (as  the  Examiner 
calls  it)  has  produced  in  him  so  much  remorse 
as  to  make  “ any  reparation  to  offended  beauty.” 
Though,  by  the  way,  the  phrase  of  “ offended 
beauty”  is  romantic,  and  has  little  of  the  com- 
punction which  should  arise  in  a man  that  is 
begging  pardon  of  a woman  for  saying  of  her 
unjustly,  that  she  had  affronted  “ her  God  and 
her  sovereign.”  However,  I will  not  bear  hard 
upon  his  contrition ; but  am  now  heartily  sorry 
I called  him  a miscreant,  that  word  i think 
signifies  an  unbeliever.  Mescroyant,  I take 
it,  is  the  old  French  word.  I will  give  myself 
no  manner  of  liberty  to  make  guesses  at  him, 
if  I may  say  him : for  though  sometimes  I 
have  been  told  by  familiar  friends,  that  they 
saw  me  such  a time  talking  to  the  Examiner  ; 
others,  who  have  rallied  me  upon  the  sins  of 
my  youth,  tell  me  it  is  credibly  reported  that 
I have  formerly  lain  with  the  Examiner.  I 
have  carried  my  point,  and  rescued  innocence 
from  calumny  ; and  it  is  nothing  to  me,  whether 
the  Examiner  writes  against  me  in  the  charac- 
ter of  an  estranged  friend*  or  an  exasperated 
mistress.! 

‘ He  is  welcome  from  henceforward  to  treat 
me  as  he  pleases : but  as  you  have  begun  to 
oppose  him,  never  let  innocence  or  merit  be 
traduced  by  him.  In  particular,  I beg  of  you, 
never  let  the  glory  of  our  nation,!  who  made 
France  tremble,  and  yet  has  that  gentleness  to  be 
able  to  bear  opposition  from  the  meanest  of  his 
own  countrymen,  be  calumniated  in  so  impu- 
dent a manner,  as  in  the  insinuation  that  he 
affected  a perpetual  dictatorship.  Let  not  a set 
of  brave,  wise,  and  honest  men,  who  did  all  that 
has  been  done  to  place  their  queen  in  so  great  a 
figure,  as  to  show  mercy  to  the  highest  poten- 
tate in  Europe,  be  treated  by  ungenerous  men 
as  traitors  and  betrayers.  To  prevent  such 
evils  is  a care  worthy  a Guardian.  These  are 


* Mr.  Swift.  t Mrs.  Manley. 

; The  duke  of  Marlborough. 


[No.  54. 

exercises  worthy  the  spirit  of  a man,  and  you 
ought  to  contemn  all  the  wit  in  the  world 
against  you,  when  you  have  the  consolation  that 
you  act  upon  these  honest  motives.  If  you  ever 
shrink  from  them,  get  Bat  Pigeon  to  comb  your 
noddle,  and  write  sonnets  on  the  smiles  of  the 
Sparkler;  but  never  call  yourself  Guardian 
more,  in  a nation  full  of  the  sentiments  of  ho- 
nour and  liberty.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant.  RICHARD  STEELE. 

‘ P.  S.  I know  nothing  of  the  letter  at  Mor- 
phew’s.’ 


No.  54.]  Wednesday,  May  13,  1713. 

Neque  itaporro  aut  adulatus  aut  admiratus  sum  for- 
tunam  alterius,  ut  memeae  p<Euiteret.  Tull. 

I never  flattered,  or  admired,  another  man’s  fortune, 
so  as  to  be  dissatisfied  with  my  own. 

It  has  been  observed  very  often,  in  authors 
divine  and  profane,  that  we  are  all  equal  after 
death,  and  this  by  way  of  consolation  for  that 
deplorable  superiority  which  some  among  us 
seem  to  have  over  others;  but  it  would  be  a 
doctrine  of  much  more  comfortable  import,  to 
establish  an  equality  among  the  living ; for  the 
propagation  of  which  paradox  I shall  hazard 
the  following  conceits. 

I must  here  lay  it  down,  that  I do  not  pre- 
tend  to  satisfy  every  barren  reader,  that  all 
persons  that  have  hitherto  apprehended  them- 
selves  extremely  miserable  shall  have  imme- 
diate  succour  from  the  publication  of  this  pa- 
per ; but  shall  endeavour  to  show  that  the  dis- 
cerning shall  be  fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
this  assertion,  and  thereby  obviate  all  the  im- 
pertinent accusations  of  Providence  for  the 
unequal  distribution  of  good  and  evil. 

If  all  men  had  reflection  enough  to  be  sensi- 
ble of  this  equality  of  happiness ; if  they  were 
not  made  uneasy  by  appearances  of  superiority  ; 
there  would  be  none  of  that  subordination  and 
subjection,  of  those  that  think  themselves  less 
happy,  to  those  they  think  more  so,  which  is 
so  very  necessary  for  the  support  of  business 
and  pleasure. 

The  common  turn  of  human  application  may 
be  divided  into  love,  ambition,  and  avarice,  and 
whatever  victories  we  gain  in  these  our  particu- 
lar pursuits,  there  will  always  be  some  one  or 
other  in  the  paths  we  tread,  whose  superior 
happiness  will  create  new  uneasiness,  and  em- 
ploy us  in  new  contrivances  ; and  so  through  all 
degrees  there  will  still  remain  the  insatiable 
desire  of  some  seeming  unacquired  good,  to 
embitter  the  possession  of  whatever  others  we 
are  accommodated  with.  And  if  we  suppose  a 
man  perfectly  accommodated,  and  trace  him 
through  all  the  gradations  betwixt  necessity 
and  superfluity,  we  shall  find  that  the  slavery 
which  occasioned  his  first  activity,  is  not  abated, 
but  only  diversified. 

Those  that  are  distressed  upon  such  causes 
as  the  world  allows  to  warrant  the  keenest  af- 
fliction, are  too  apt,  in  the  comparison  of  them- 
selves with  others,  to  conclude,  that  where  there 
is  not  a similitude  of  causes,  there  cannot  be  of 
affliction,  and  forget  to  relieve  themselves  with 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


81 


No.  55.] 

this  consideration,  that  the  little  disappoint- 
ments in  a life  of  pleasure  are  as  terrible  as 
those  in  a life  of  business ; and  if  the  end  of  one 
man  is  to  spend  his  time  and  money  as  agreea- 
bly as  he  can,  that  of  the  other  to  save  both,  an 
interruption  in  either  of  these  pursuits  is  of 
equal  consequence  to  the  pursuers.  Besides,  as 
every  trifle  raiseth  the  mirth  and  gayety  of  the 
men  of  good  circumstances,  so  do  others  as  in- 
considerable expose  them  to  spleen  and  passion, 
and  as  Solomon  says,  ‘ according  to  their  riches, 
their  anger  riseth.’ 

One  of  the  most  bitter  circumstances  of  po- 
verty has  been  observed  to  be,  that  it  makes 
men  appear  ridiculous ; but  I believe  this  affirm- 
ation may  with  more  justree  be  appropriated 
to  riches,  since  more  qualifications  are  required 
to  become  a great  fortune,  than  even  to  make 
one ; and  there  are  several  pretty  persons  about 
town,  ten  times  more  ridiculous  upon  the  very 
account  of  a good  estate,  than  they  possibly 
could  have  been  with  the  want  of  it. 

I confess,  having  a mind  to  pay  my  court  to 
fortune,  I became  an  adventurer  in  one  of  the 
late  lotteries  ; in  which,  though  I got  none  of 
the  great  prizes,  I found  no  occasion  to  envy 
some  of  those  that  did  ; comforting  myself  with 
this  contemplation,  that  nature  and  education 
having  disappointed  all  the  favours  fortune 
could  bestow  upon  them,  they  had  gained  no 
superiority  by  an  unenvied  affluence. 

It  is  pleasant  to  consider,  that  whilst  we  are 
lamenting  our  particular  afflictions  to  each 
other,  and  repining  at  the  inequality  of  condi- 
tion, were  it  possible  to  throw  off*  our  present 
miserable  state,  we  cannot  name  the  j)erson 
W'hose  condition  in  every  particular  we  would 
embrace  and  prefer;  and  an  impartial  inquiry 
into  the  pride,  ill-nature,  ill-health,  guilt,  spleen, 
or  particularity  of  behaviour  of  others,  general- 
ly ends  in  a reconciliation  to  our  dear  selves. 

This  my  way  of  thinking  is  warranted  by 
Shakspeare,  in  a very  extraordinary  manner, 
where  he  makes  Richard  the  Second,  w'hen  de- 
posed and  imprisoned,  debating  a matter,  which 
would  soon  have  been  discussed  by  a common 
capacity,  whether  his  prison  or  palace  was  niost 
eligible,  and  with  very  philosophical  hesitation 
leaving  the  preference  undetermined,  in  the 
fallowing  lines, 

Sometimes  am  I a kinjj, 

Then  treason  makes  me  wish  myself  a besgar, 

Anil  so  indeed  1 am.  Then  crushing  penury 
Persuades  me  I was  better  when  a king, 

Then  am  [ king’d  again. 

Prior  says  very  prettily : 

Against  our  peace  w'e  arm  our  will : 

Amidst  our  plenty  something  still 
For  horses,  houses,  pictures,  planting. 

To  thee,  to  me,  to  him  is  wanting. 

That  cruel  something  unpossest 
Corrodes  and  leavens  all  the  rest. 

That  something  if  we  could  obtain. 

Would  soon  create  a future  pain. 

Give  me  leave  to  fortify  my  unlearned  reader 
with  another  bit  of  wisdom  from  Juvenal,  by 
Dry  den  : 

Look  round  the  habitable  world,  how  few 
Know  their  own  good,  or,  knowing  it,  pursue  ! 

How  void  of  reason  are  our  hopes  and  fears ! 

What  in  the  conduct  of  our  life  appears 

So  well  designed,  so  luckily  begun 

But,  vvhen  we  have  our  wish,  wc  wish  undone ! 


Even  the  men  that  are  distinguished  by,  and 
envied  for,  their  superior  good  sense  and  deli- 
cacy of  taste,  are  subject  to  several  uneasinesses 
upon  this  account,  tliat  the  men  of  less  penetra- 
tion are  utter  strangers  to  ; and  every  little  ab- 
surdity ruffles  these  fine  judgments,  which 
would  never  disturb  the  peaceful  state  of  the 
less  discerning. 

I shall  end  this  essay  with  the  following  story. 
There  is  a gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,  of  a 
fortune  which  may  not  only  be  called  easy,  but 
superfluous;  yet  this  person  has,  by  a great 
deal  of  reflection,  found  out  a method  to  be  as 
uneasy  as  the  worst  circumstances  could  have 
made  him.  By  a free  life  he  had  swelled  him- 
self  above  his  natural  proportion,  and  by  a re- 
strained life  had  shrunk  below  it,  and  being  by 
nature  splenetic,  and  by  leisure  more  so,  he 
began  to  bewail  this  his  loss  of  flesh  (though 
otherwise  in  perfect  health)  as  a very  melan- 
choly  diminution.  He  became,  therefore,  the 
reverse  of  Caesar,  and  as  a lean,  hungry-looked 
rascal  was  the  delight  of  his  eyes,  a fat,  sleek- 
headed fellow  was  his  abomination.  To  support 
himself  as  well  as  he  could,  he  took  a servant, 
for  the  very  reason  every  one  else  would  have 
refused  him,  for  being  in  a deep  consumption ; 
and  whilst  he  has  compared  himself  to  this 
creature,  and  with  a face  of  infinite  humour 
contemplated  the  decay  of  his  body,  I have  seen 
the  master’s  features  proportionably  rise  into  a 
boldness,  as  those  of  liis  slave  sunk  and  grew 
languid.  It  was  his  interest,  therefore,  not  to 
suffer  the  too  hasty  dissolution  of  a being,  upon 
which  his  own,  in  some  measure  depended.  In 
short,  the  fellow,  by  a little  too  much  indul- 
gence, began  to  look  gay  and  plump  upon  his 
master,  who,  according  to  Horace, 

Invidus  alterius  macrescit  rebus  opimis. 

Lib.  1.  Ep.  ii.  57. 

Sickens  thro’  envy  at  another’s  good  : 
and  as  he  took  him  only  for  being  in  a con- 
sumption, by  the  same  way  of  thinking,  he 
found  it  absolutely  necessary  to  dismiss  him 
for  not  being  in  one;  and  has  told  me  since, 
that  he  looks  upon  it  as  a very  difficult  matter, 
to  furnish  himself  with  a footman  that  is  not 
altogether  as  happy  as  himself. 


No.  55.]  Thursday,  May  14, 1713. 

quis  enim  virtutem  aniplectitur  ipsam, ' 

Proeinia  si  tollas?  Jno.  Sat.  x.  141. 

For  who  would  virtue  for  herself  regard, 

Or  wed,  without  the  portion  of  reward  ? Dryden. 

It  is  usual  with  polemical  writers  to  object 
ill  designs  to  their  adversaries.  This  turns 
their  argument  into  satire,  which,  instead  of 
showing  an  error  in  the  understanding,  tends 
only  to  expose  the  morals  of  those  they  write 
against.  I shall  not  act  after  this  manner  with 
respect  to  the  free-thinkers.  Virtue  and  the 
happiness  of  society,  are  the  great  ends  which 
all  men  ought  to  promote  ; and  some  of  that  sect 
would  be  thought  to  have  a heart  above  the 
rest  of  mankind.  But  supposing  those  who 
make  that  profession,  to  carry  on  a good  design 
in  the  simplicity  of  their  hearts,  and  according 


82 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  55. 


to  their  best  knowledge,  yet  it  is  much  to  be 
feared,  those  well-meaning  souls,  while  they 
endeavoured  to  recommend  virtue,  have  in  real- 
ity been  advancing  the  interests  of  vice  ; which, 
as  I take  to  proceed  from  their  ignorance  of 
human  nature,  we  may  hope,  when  they  be- 
come sensible  of  their  mistake,  they  will,  in 
consequence  of  that  beneficent  principle  they 
pretend  to  act  upon,  reform  their  practice  for 
the  future. 

The  sages  whom  I have  in  my  eye,  speak  of 
virtue  as  the  most  amiable  thing  in  the  world ; 
but  at  the  same  time  that  they  extol  her  beauty, 
they  take  care  to  lessen  her  portion.  Such  in- 
nocent creatures  are  they,  and  so  great  strangers 
to  the  world,  that  tliey  think  this  a likely  me- 
thod to  increase  the  number  of  her  admirers. 

Virtue  has  in  herself  the  most  engaging 
charms;  and  Christianity,  as  it  places  her  in 
the  strongest  light,  and  adorned  with  all  her 
native  attractions,  so  it  kindles  a new  fire  in 
the  soul,  by  adding  to  them  the  unutterable  re- 
wards which  attend  her  votaries  in  an  eternal 
state.  Or,  if  there  are  men  of  a saturnine  and 
heavy  complexion,  who  are  not  easily  lifted  up 
by  hope,  there  is  the  prospect  of  everlasting 
punishments  to  agitate  their  souls,  and  frighten 
them  into  the  practice  of  virtue,  and  an  aversion 
from  vice. 

Whereas,  your  sober  free-thinkers  tell  you, 
that  virtue  indeed  is  beautiful,  and  vice  de- 
formed ; the  former  deserves  your  love,  and  the 
latter  your  abhorrence;  but  then  it  is  for  their 
own  sake,  or  on  account  of  the  good  and  evil 
which  immediately  attend  them,  and  are  inse- 
parable from  their  respective  natures.  As  for 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  or  eternal  punish- 
ments and  rewards,  those  are  openly  ridiculed, 
or  rendered  suspi  nous  by  the  most  sly  and  la- 
boured artifice. 

I will  not  say  these  men  act  treacherously  in 
the  cause  of  virtue  ; but  will  any  one  deny,  that 
they  act  foolishly,  who  pretend  to  advance  the 
interest  of  it  by  destroying  or  weakening  the 
strongest  motives  to  it,  which  are  accommodated 
to  all  capacities,  and  fitted  to  work  on  all  dis- 
positions, and  enforcing  those  alone  which  can 
affect  only  a generous  and  exalted  mind  ! 

Surely  they  must  be  destitute  of  passion  them- 
selves, and  unacquainted  with  the  force  it  hath  on 
the  minds  of  others,  who  can  imagine  that  the 
mere  beauty  of  fortitude,  temperance,  and  jus- 
tice, is  sufficient  to  sustain  the  mind  of  man  in 
a severe  course  of  self-denial  against  all  the 
temptations  of  present  profit  and  sensuality. 

It  is  my  opinion  that  free-thinkers  should  be 
treated  as  a set  of  poor  ignorant  creature.s,  that 
have  not  sense  to  discover  the  excellency  of 
religion  ; it  being  evident  those  men  are  no 
witches,  nor  likely  to  be  guilty  of  any  deep  de- 
sign, who  proclaim  aloud  to  the  world,  that  they 
have  less  motives  to  honesty  than  the  rest  of 
their  fellow-subjects,  who  have  all  the  induce- 
ments to  the  exercise  of  any  virtue  which  a 
free-thinker  can  possibly  have,  and  besides,  the 
expectation  of  never-ending  happiness  or  misery, 
as  the  consequence  of  their  choice. 

Are  not  men  actuated  by  their  passions  7 and 
are  not  hope  and  fear  the  most  powerful  of  our 
passions  ? and  are  there  any  objects  which  can 


rouse  and  awaken  our  hopes  and  fears,  like  j 

those  prospects  that  warm  and  penetrate  the  i 

heart  of  a Christian,  but  are  not  regarded  by  a } 

free-thinker  ? 

It  is  not  only  a clear  point,  that  a Christian  5 

breaks  through  stronger  engagements  whenever  t| 

he  surrenders  himself  to  commit  a criminal  ac-  ii 

tion,  and  is  stung  with  a sharper  remorse  after  y 

it  than  a free-thinker;  but  it  should  even  seem  r 

that  a man  who  believes  no  future  state,  would  & 

act  a foolish  part  in  being  thoroughly  honest.  1 

For  what  reason  is  there  why  such  a one  should  i 

postpone  his  own  private  interest,  or  pleasure,  .1 

to  the  doing  his  duty?  If  a Christian  foregoes  » 

some  present  advantage  for  the  sake  of  his  con-  1 

science,  he  acts  accountably,  because  it  is  with  J 

the  view  of  gaining  some  greater  future  good  : I 

but  he  that,  having  no  such  view,  should  yet  I 

conscientiously  deny  himself  a present  good  in  | 

any  incident  where  he  may  save  appearances,  c 

is  altogether  as  stupid  as  he  that  would  trust  f 

him  at  such  a juncture.  1 

It  will,  perhaps,  be  said,  that  virtue  is  her  i 
own  reward,  that  a natural  gratification  attends  jt 
good  actions,  which  is  alone  sufficient  to  excite  j 
men  to  the  performance  of  them.  But  although  | 
there  is  nothing  more  lovely  than  virtue,  and  i 
the  practice  of  it  is  the  surest  way  to  solid  i 
natural  happiness,  even  in  this  life ; yet  titles,  ■; 
estates,  and  fantastical  pleasures,  are  more  ar-  1 
dently  sought  after  by  most  men,  than  the  na- 
tural gratifications  of  a reasonable  mind  ; and  it 
cannot  be  denied,  that  virtue  and  innocence  are 
not  always  the  readiest  methods  to  attain  that  1 
sort  of  happiness.  Besides,  the  fumes  of  passion  1 

must  be  allayed,  and  reason  must  burn  brighter 
than  ordinary,  co  enable  men  to  see  and  relish 
all  the  native  beauties  and  delights  of  a virtuous 
life.  And  though  we  should  grant  our  free- 
thinkers to  be  a set  of  refined  spirits,  capable 
only  of  being  enamoured  of  virtue,  yet  what 
would  become  of  the  bulk  of  mankind  who  have 
gross  understandings,  but  lively  senses,  and 
strong  passions  ? What  a deluge  of  lust,  and 
fraud,  and  violence,  would  in  a little  time  over- 
fiow  the  whole  nation,  if  these  wise  advocates 
for  morality  were  universally  hearkened  to! 
Lastly,  opportunities  do  sometimes  offer,  in 
which  a man  may  wickedly  make  his  fortune, 
or  indulge  a pleasure,  without  fear  of  temporal 
damage,  either  in  reputation,  health,  or  fortune. 

In  such  cases  what  restraint  do  they  lie  un^er 
who  have  no  regards  beyond  the  grave;  the  in- 
ward compunctions  of  a wicked,  as  well  as  the 
joys  of  an  upright  mind  being  grafted  on  the 
sense  of  another  state  ? 

The  thought,  ‘ that  our  existence  terminates 
with  this  life,’  doth  naturally  check  the  soul  in 
any  generous  pursuit,  contract  her  views,  and 
fix  them  on  temporary  and  selfish  ends.  It  de- 
thrones the  reason,  exting-uishes  all  noble  and 
heroic  sentiments,  and  subjects  the  mind  to  the 
slavery  of  every  present  passion.  The  wise 
heathens  of  antiquity  were  not  ignorant  of  this  : 
hence  they  endeavoured  by  fables,  and  conjec- 
tures, and  the  glimmerings  of  nature,  to  possess 
the  minds  of  men  with  the  belief  of  a future 
state,  which  has  been  since  brought  to  light  by 
the  gospel,  and  is  now  most  inconsistenly  de- 
cried by  a few  weak  men,  who  would  have  us 


No.  56.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


83 


believe  that  they  promote  virtue,  by  turning 
religion  into  ridicule. 


No.  56.]  Friday,  May  15,  1713. 

Quid  mentum  traxisse  polo,  quid  profuit  altuin 
Eiexisse  caput?  pecudiim  si  more  pererranl. 

Claud. 

What  profits  us,  that  we  from  heaven  derive 
A soul  immortal,  and  with  looks  erect 
Survey  the  stars;  if,  like  the  brutal  kind. 

We  follow  where  our  passions  lead  the  way  ? 

I WAS  considering  last  night,  when  I could 
not  sleep,  how  noble  a part  of  the  creation  man 
was  designed  to  be,  and  how  distinguished  in 
all  his  actions  above  other  earthly  creatures. 
From  whence  I fell  to  take  a view  of  the  change 
and  corruption  which  he  has  introduced  into  his 
own  condition,  the  grovelling  appetites,  the 
mean  characters  of  sense,  and  wild  courses  of 
passions,  that  cast  him  from  the  degree  in  which 
Providence  had  placed  him;  the  debasing  him- 
self with  qualifications  not  his  own ; and  his 
degenerating  into  a lower  sphere  of  action. 
This  inspired  me  with  a mixture  of  contempt 
and  anger  ; which,  however,  was  not  so  violent 
as  to  hinder  the  return  of  sleep,  but  grew  con- 
fused as  that  came  upon  me,  and  made  me  end 
my  reflections  with  giving  mankind  the  oppro- 
brious names  of  inconsiderate,  mad,  and  foolish. 

Here,  methought,  where  my  waking  reason 
left  the  subject,  my  fancy  pursued  it  in  a dream  ; 
and  I imagined  myself  in  a loud  soliloquy  of 
passion,  railing  at  rny  species,  and  walking  hard 
to  get  rid  of  the  company  I despised  ; w'hen  two 
men  who  had  overheard  me,  made  up  on  either 
hand.  These  I observed  had  many  features  in 
common  which  might  occasion  the  mistake  of 
one  for  the  other  in  those  to  whom  they  appear 
single;  but  I,  who  saw  them  together,  could 
easily  perceive,  that  though  there  was  an  air  of 
severity  in  each,  it  was  tempered  with  a natural 
sweetness  in  the  one,  and  by  turns  constrained 
or  ruffled  by  the  designs  of  malice  in  the  other. 

I was  at  a loss  to  know  the  reason  of  their 
joining  me  so  briskly  ; when  he,  whose  appear- 
ance displeased  me  most,  thus  addressed  his 
companion : Pray,  brother,  let  him  alone,  and 
we  shall  immediately  see  him  transformed  into 
a tiger.  This  struck  me  with  horror,  which  the 
other  perceived,  and,  pitying  my  disorder,  bid 
me  be  of  good  courage,  for  though  I had  l)een 
savage  in  my  treatment  of  mankind,  (whom  I 
should  rather  reform  than  rail  against)  he  would, 
however,  endeavour  to  rescue  me  from  my  dan- 
ger. At  this  I looked  a little  more  cheerful,  and 
while  I testified  my  resignation  to  him,  we  saw 
the  angry  brother  fling  away  from  us  in  a pas- 
sion for  his  disappointment.  Being  now  left  to 
my  friend,  I went  back  with  him  at  his  desire, 
that  I might  know  the  meaning  of  those  words 
which  had  so  affrighted  me. 

As  we  went  along,  ‘ To  inform  you,’  says  he, 
‘with  whom  you  have  this  adventure,  my  name 
is  Reproof,  and  his  Reproach,  both  born  of  the 
same  mother;  but  of  different  fathers.  Truth 
is  our  common  parent.  Friendship,  who  saw 
her,  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  she  being  pleased 
with  him,  he  begat  me  upon  her ; but,  a while 


after.  Enmity  lying  in  ambush  for  her,  became 
the  father  of  him  whom  you  saw  along  with  me. 
The  temper  of  our  mother  inclines  us  to  the 
same  sort  of  business,  the  informing  mankind 
of  their  faults ; but  the  different  complexions  of 
our  fathers  make  us  differ  in  our  designs  and 
company.  I have  a natural  benevolence  in  my 
mind  which  engages  me  with  friends  ; and  he  a 
natural  impetuosity  in  his,  which  casts  him 
among  enemies.’ 

As  he  thus  discoursed,  we  came  to  a place 
where  there  were  three  entrances  into  as  many 
several  walks,  which  lay  aside  of  one  another. 
We  passed  into  the  middlemost,  a plain  straight 
regular  walk,  set  with  trees,  which  added  to 
the  beauty  of  the  place,  but  did  nofso  close  their 
boughs  over  head  as  to  exclude  the  light  from  it. 
Here,  as  we  walked,  I was  made  to  observe,  how 
the  road  on  one  hand  was  full  of  rocks  and  pre- 
cipices,  over  which  Reproach  (who  had  already 
gotten  thither)  was  furiously  driving  unliappy 
wretches : the  other  side  was  all  laid  out  in  gar- 
dens of  gaudy  tulips,  amongst  \viiose  leaves  the 
serpents  wreathed,  and  at  the  end  of  every 
grassy  walk  the  enchantress  Flattery  was  weav- 
ing bowers  to  lull  souls  asleep  in.  We  conti- 
nued still  walking  on  the  middle  way,  till  we 
arrived  at  a building  in  which  it  terminated. 
This  was  formerly  erected  by  Truth  for  a watch- 
tower,  from  whence  she  took  a view  of  the  earth, 
and,  as  she  saw  occasion,  sent  out  Reproof,  or 
even  Reproach,  for  our  reformation.  Over  the 
door  I took  notice  that  a face  was  carved  with  a 
heart  upon  the  lips  of  it,  and  presently  called  to 
mind  that  this  was  the  ancients’  emblem  of  sin- 
cerity. In  the  entrance  I met  with  Freedom  of 
Speech  and  Complaisance,  who  had  for  a long 
time  looked  upon  one  another  as  enemies  ; but 
Reproof  has  so  happily  brought  them  together, 
that  they  now  act  as  friends  and  fellow  agents 
in  the  same  family.  Before  I ascended  the  stairs, 
I had  my  eyes  purified  by  a water  which  made 
me  see  extremely  clear;  and  I think  they  said 
it  sprung  in  a pit,  from  whence  (as  Democritus 
had  reported)  they  formerly  brought  up  Truth, 
who  had  hid  herself  in  it.  I was  then  admitted 
to  the  upper  chamber  of  prospect,  which  was 
called  the  Knowledge  of  Mankind : here  the 
window  was  no  sooner  opened,  but  I perceived 
the  clouds  to  roll  off  and  part  before  me,  and  a 
scene  of  all  the  variety  of  the  world  presented 
itself. 

But  how  different  was  mankind  in  this  view 
from  what  it  used  to  appear  ! Methought  the 
very  shape  of  most  of  them  was  lost;  some  had 
the  heads  of  dogs,  others  of  apes  or  parrots,  and, 
in  short,  wherever  any  one  took  upon  him  the 
inferior  and  unworthy  qualities  of  other  crea- 
tures, the  change  of  his  soul  became  visible  in 
his  countenance.  The  strutting  pride  of  him 
who  is  endued  with  brutality  instead  of  courage, 
made  his  face  shoot  out  into  the  form  of  a 
horse’s  ; his  eyes  became  prominent,  his  nostrils 
widened,  and  his  wig  untying,  flowed  down  on 
one  side  of  his  neck  in  a waving  mane.  The 
talkativeness  of  those  who  love  the  ill-nature  of 
conversation  made  them  turn  into  assemblies  of 
geese,  their  lips  hardened  to  bills  by  eternal 
using,  they  gabbled  for  diversion,  they  hissed  in 
scandal,  and  their  ruffles  falling  back  on  their 


84 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  57. 


arms,  a succession  of  little  feathers  appeared, 
whieh  formed  wing-s  for  them  to  flutter  with 
from  one  visit  to  another.  The  envious  and  ma- 
licious lay  on  the  ground  with  the  heads  of  dif- 
ferent sorts  of  serpents  ; and  not  endeavouring' 
to  erect  themselves,  but  meditating'  mischief  to 
others,  they  sucked  the  poison  of  the  earth, 
sharpened  their  tongues  to  stings  upon  the 
stones,  and  rolled  their  trains  unperceivably  be- 
neath their  habits.  The  hypocritical  oppressors 
wore  the  face  of  crocodiles : their  mouths  were 
instruments  of  cruelty,  their  eyes  of  deceit; 
they  committed  wickedness,  and  bemoaned  that 
there  should  be  so  much  of  it  in  the  world  ; they 
devoured  the  unwary  and  wept  over  the  remains 
of  them.  The  covetous  had  so  hooked  and  worn 
their  fingers  by  counting  interest  upon  interest, 
that  they  were  converted  to  the  claws  of  harpies, 
and  these  they  still  were  stretching  out  for  more, 
yet  still  seemed  unsatisfied  with  their  acquisi- 
tions. The  sharpers  had  the  looks  of  camelions  ; 
they  every  minute  changed  their  appearance, 
and  fed  on  swarhis  of  flies  which  fell  as  so  many 
cullies  amongst  them.  The  bully  seemed  a 
dunghill  cock : he  crested  well,  and  bore  his 
comb  aloft;  he  was  beaten  by  almost  every  one, 
yet  still  sung  for  triumph;  and  only  the  mean 
coward  pricked  up  the  ears  of  a hare  to  fly  be- 
fore him.  Critics  were  turned  into  cats,  whose 
pleasure  and  grumbling  go  together.  Fops 
were  apes  in  embroidered  jackets.  Flatterers 
were  curled  spaniels,  fawning  and  crouching. 
The  crafty  had  the  face  of  a fox,  the  slothful  of 
an  ass,  the  cruel  of  a wolf,  the  ill-bred  of  a bear, 
the  lechers  were  goats,  and  the  gluttons  swine. 
Drunkenness  was  the  only  vice  that  did  not 
change  the  face  of  its  professors  into  that  of 
another  creature  ; but  this  I took  to  be  far  from 
a privilege,  for  these  two  reasons  : — because  it 
sufficiently  deforms  them  of  itself,  and  because 
none  of  the  lower  rank  of  beings  is  guilty  of  so 
foolish  an  intemperance. 

As  I was  taking  a view  of  these  representa- 
tions of  things  without  any  more  order  than  is 
usual  in  a dream,  or  in  the  confusion  of  the 
world  itself,  I perceived  a concern  within  me 
for  what  I saw ! My  eyes  began  to  moisten,  as 
if  the  virtue  of  that  water  with  which  they  were 
purified  was  lost  for  a time,  by  their  being 
touched  with  that  which  arose  from  a passion. 
The  clouds  immediately  began  to  gather  again, 
and  close  from  either  hand  upon  the  prospect. 

I then  turned  towards  my  guide,  who  address- 
ed himself  to  me  after  this  manner ; ‘ You  have 
seen  the  condition  of  mankind  when  it  descends 
from  its  dignity ; now,  therefore,  guard  your- 
self from  that  degeneraey  by  a modest  greatness 
of  spirit  on  one  side,  and  a conscious  shame  on 
the  other.  Endeavour  also  with  a generosity  of 
goodness  to  make  your  friends  aware  of  it ; let 
them  know  what  defects  you  perceive  are  grow- 
ing upon  them ; handle  the  matter  as  you  see 
reason,  either  with  the  airs  of  severe  or  humour- 
ous affection ; sometimes  plainly  describing  the 
degeneracy  in  its  full  proper  colours,  or  at  other 
times  letting  them  know,  that,  if  they  proceed 
as  they  have  begun,  you  give  them  to  such  a 
day,  or  so  many  months,  to  turn  bears,  wolves, 
or  foxes,  &c.  Neither  neglect  your  more  re- 
mote acquaintance,  where  you  see  any  worthy 


and  susceptible  of  admonition.  Expose  the 
beasts  whose  qualities  you  see  them  putting  on, 
where  you  have  no  mind  to  engage  with  their 
persons.  The  possibility  of  their  applying  this  is 
very  obvious.  The  Egyptians  saw  it  so  clearly, 
that  they  made  the  pictures  of  animals  explain 
their  minds  to  one  another  instead  of  writing; 
and,  indeed,  it  is  hardly  to  be  missed,  since 
tEsop  took  them  out  of  their  mute  condition, 
and  taught  them  to  speak  for  themselves  with 
relation  to  the  actions  of  mankind.’ 

My  guide  had  thus  concluded,  and  I was  pro- 
mising to  write  down  what  was  shown  me  for 
the  service  of  the  world,  when  I was  awakened 
by  a zealous  old  servant  of  mine,  who  brought 
me  the  Examiner,  and  told  me,  with  looks  full 
of  concern,  he  was  afraid  I was  in  it  again. 


No.  57.]  Saturday^  May 

Q,uam  multa  injusta  ac  prava  hunt  moribus ! 

Ter.  Heaut.  Act  iv.  Sc.  G. 

How  many  unjust  and  wrong  things  are  authorised 
by  custom! 

It  is  of  no  small  concern  to  me  that  the  in- 
terests of  virtue  are  supplanted  by  common  cus- 
tom and  regard  for  indifferent  things.  Thus 
mode  and  fashion  defend  the  most  absurd  and 
unjust  proceedings,  and  nobody  is  out  of  coun- 
tenance for  doing  what  every  body  practices, 
though  at  the  same  time  there  is  no  one  who  is 
not  convinced  in  his  own  judgment  of  the  er- 
rors in  which  he  goes  on  with  the  multitude. 
My  correspondent,  who  writes  me  the  following 
letter,  has  put  together  a great  many  points 
which  would  deserve  serious  consideration,  as 
much  as  things  which  at  first  appearance  bear 
a weightier  aspect.  He  recites  almost  all  the 
little  arts  that  are  used  in  the  way  to  matrimony, 
by  the  parents  of  young  women.  There  is  no- 
thing more  common  than  for  people,  who  have 
good  and  worthy  characters,  to  run  without  re- 
spect to  tlie  laws  of  gratitude,  into  the  most  ex- 
orbitant demands  for  their  children,  upon  no 
other  foundation  than  that  which  should  incline 
them  to  the  quite  contrary,  the  unreserved  affec- 
tion of  the  lover.  I shall  at  this  time,  by  insert- 
ing my  correspondent’s  letter,  lay  such  offences 
before  all  parents  and  daughters  respective!}’’, 
and  reserve  the  particular  instances  to  be  con- 
sidered in  future  precautions. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside^  Esquire. 

‘Sir, — I have  for  some  time  retired  myself 
from  the  town  and  business  to  a little  seat 
where  a pleasant  campaign  country,  good  roads, 
and  healthful  air,  tempt  me  often  abroad ; and 
being  a single  man,  have  contracted  more  ac- 
quaintance than  is  suitable  to  my  years,  or 
agreeable  to  the  intentions  of  retirement  I 
brought  down  with  me  hither.  Among  others 
I have  a young  neighbour,  who  yesterday,  im- 
parted to  me  the  history  of  an  honourable  amour, 
which  has  been  carried  on  a considerable  time 
with  a great  deal  of  lov'e  on  his  side,  and  (as  he 
says  he  has  been  made  to  believe)  wuth  some- 
thing very  unlike  aversion  on  the  young  lady’s. 


I 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


85 


No.  57.] 

But  so  matters  have  been  contrived,  that  he 
could  never  get  to  know  her  mind  thorouglily. 
When  he  was  first  acquainted  with  her,  he  niiglit 
be  as  intimate  with  her  as  other  people;  but 
since  he  first  declared  his  passion,  he  has  never 
been  admitted  to  wait  upon  her,  or  to  see  her, 
other  than  in  public.  If  he  went  to  her  father’s 
house,  and  desired  to  visit  her,  she  was  eitlier 
to  be  sick  or  out  of  the  way,  and  nobody  would 
come  near  him  in  two  hours,  and  then  he  should 
be  received  as  if  he  had  committed  some  strange 
offence.  If  he  asked  her  father’s  leave  to  visit 
her,  the  old  gentleman  was  mute.  If  he  put  it 
negatively,  and  asked  if  he  refused  it,  the  father 
would  answer  with  a smile,  “ No,  I don’t  say  so, 
neither.”  If  they  talked  of  the  fortune,  he  had 
considered  his  circumstances,  and  it  every  day 
diminished.  If  the  settlements  came  into  de- 
bate, he  had  considered  the  young  gentleman’s 
estate,  and  daily  increased  his  expectations.  If 
the  mother  was  consulted,  she  was  mightily  for 
the  match,  but  affected  strangely  the  showing 
her  cunning  in  perplexing  matters.  It  went  off 
seemingly  several  times,  but  iny  young  neigh- 
bour’s passion  was  such  that  it  easily  revived 
upon  the  least  encouragement  given  him  ; but 
tired  out  with  writing,  (the  only  liberty  allowed 
hkn,)  and  receiving  answers  at  cross  purposes, 
destitute  of  all  hopes,  he  at  length  wrote  a formal 
adieu;  but  it  was  very  unfortunately  timed,  for 
soon  after  he  had  the  long  vvished-for  opportu- 
nity of  finding  her  at  a distance  from  her  pa- 
rents. Struck  with  the  joyful  news,  in  heat  of 
passion,  resolute  to  do  any  thing  rather  than 
leave  her,  down  he  comes  post,  directly  to  the 
house  where  she  was,  without  any  preparatory 
intercession  after  the  provocation  of  an  adieu. 
She,  in  a premeditated  anger  to  show  her  re- 
sentment, refused  to  see  him.  He  in  a kind  of 
fond  frenzy,  absent  from  himself,  and  exas- 
perated into  rage,  cursed  her  heartily ; but  re- 
turning to  himself,  was  all  confusion,  repent- 
ance, and  submission.  But  in  vain;  the  lady 
continued  inexorable,  and  so  the  affair  ended  in 
a manner  that  renders  them  very  unlikely  ever 
to  meet  again.  Through  the  pursuit  of  the 
whole  story  (whereof  I give  but  a sliort  abstract) 
my  young  neighbour  appeared  so  touched,  and 
discovered  such  certain  marks  of  unfeigned  love, 
that  I cannot  but  be  heartily  sorry  for  them 
both.  When  he  was  gone,  I sat  down  immedi- 
ately to  my  scrutoire,  to  give  you  the  account, 
whose  business,  as  a Guardian,  it  is  to  tell  your 
wards  what  is  to  be  avoided,  as  well  as  what  is 
fit  to  be  done.  And  I humbly  propose,  that  you 
will,  upon  this  occasion,  extend  your  instructions 
to  all  sorts  of  people  concerned  in  treaties  of  this 
nature,  (which  of  all  others  do  most  nearly  con- 
cern human  life)  such  as  parents,  daughters, 
lovers,  and  confidants  of  both  sexes.  I desire 
leave  to  observe,  that  the  mistakes  in  this  court- 
ship (which  might  otherwise  probably  have  suc- 
ceeded happily)  seem  chiefly  these  four,  viz. 

‘ 1.  The  father’s  close  equivocal  management, 
so  as  always  to  keep  a reservation  to  use  upon 
occasion,  when  he  found  himself  pressed. 

‘2.  The  mother’s  affecting  to  appear  ex- 
tremely artful. 

‘ 3.  A notion  in  the  daughter  (who  is  a lady 
of  singular  good  sense  and  virtue)  that  no  man 


can  love  her  as  he  ought,  who  can  deny  any 
tiling  her  parents  demand. 

‘ 4.  Carrying  on  the  affair  by  letters  and  con- 
fidants, witliout  sufficient  interviews. 

‘ I think  you  cannot  fail  obliging  many  in  the 
world,  besides  my  young  neighbour  and  me,  if 
you  please  to  give  your  thoughts  upon  treaties 
of  this  nature,  wherein  all  the  nobility  and  gen- 
try of  this  nation  (in  the  unfortunate  methods 
marriages  are  at  jiresent  in)  come  at  one  time 
or  otlier  unavoidably  to  be  engaged  ; especially 
it  is  my  humble  request,  you  will  be  particular 
in  speaking  to  the  following  points,  to  wit, 

‘ 1.  Whether  honourable  love  ought  to  be 
mentioned  first  to  the  young  lady,  or  her  pa- 
rents ? 

‘ 2.  If  to  the  young  lady  first,  whether  a man 
is  obliged  to  comply  with  all  the  parents  demand 
afterwards,  under  pain  of  breaking  off  disho- 
nourably ? 

‘ 3.  If  to  the  parents  first,  whether  the  lover 
may  insist  upon  what  the  father  pretends  to 
give,  and  reffise  to  make  such  settlement  as 
must  incapacitate  him  for  any  thing  afterwards, 
without  just  imputation  of  being  mercenary,  or 
putting  a slight  upon  the  lady,  by  entertaining 
views  upon  tlie  contingency  of  her  death  ? 

‘ 4.  What  instructions  a motlier  ought  to  give 
her  daughter  upon  such  occasions,  and  what  the 
old  lady’s  part  properly  is  in  such  treaties,  her 
husband  being  alive? 

‘5.  IIow  far  a young  lady  is  in  duty  obliged 
to  observe  her  mother’s  directions,  and  not  to 
receive  any  letters  or  messages  without  her 
knowledge  ? 

‘ 6.  How  far  a daughter  is  obliged  to  exert 
the  power  she  has  over  her  lover,  for  the  ease 
and  advantage  of  her  lather  and  his  family  ; and 
how  far  she  may  consult  and  endeavour  the  in- 
terest of  the  family  she  is  to  marry  into? 

‘ 7.  How  far  letters  and  confidants  of  both 
sexes  may  regularly  be  employed,  and  wherein 
they  are  improper? 

‘ 8.  When  a young  lady’s  pen  is  employed 
about  settlements,  fortunes,  or  the  like,  whether 
it  be  an  affront  to  give  the  same  answers  as  if 
it  had  been  in  the  hand-writing  of  those  that  in- 
structed her? 

‘ Lastly,  be  pleased  at  your  leisure  to  correct 
that  too  common  way  among  fathers,  of  publish- 
ing in  the  world,  that  they  will  give  their  daugh- 
ters twice  the  fortune  they  really  intend,  and 
thereby  draw  young  gentlemen,  whose  estates 
are  often  in  debt,  into  a dilemma,  either  of  cross- 
ing a fixed  inclination,  contracted  by  a long  ha- 
bit of  thinking  upon  the  same  person,  and  so 
being  miserable  that  way;  or  else  beginning 
the  world  under  a burden  they  can  never  get 
quit  of. 

‘ Thus,  sage  sir,  have  I laid  before  you  all 
that  does  at  present  occur  to  me  on  the  import- 
ant subject  of  marriage ; but  before  I seal  up 
ray  epistle,  I must  desire  you  farther  to  consider, 
how  far  treaties  of  this  sort  come  under  the  head 
of  bargain  and  sale;  whether  you  cannot  find 
out  measures  to  have  the  whole  transacted  in 
fairer  and  more  open  market  than  at  present. 
How  would  it  become  you  to  put  the  laws  in  ex- 
ecution against  forestallers,  who  take  up  the 
young  things  of  each  sex  before  they  are  ex 


86 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


posed  to  an  honest  sale,  or  the  worth  or  imper- 
fection of  the  purchase  is  thoroughly  considered? 

‘ We  mightily  want  a demand  for  women  in 
these  parts.  I am,  sagacious  sir,  your  most  obe- 
dient and  most  humble  servant,  T.  L.’ 


No.  58.]  Monday,  May  18,  1713. 

Nec  sibi,  sed  toti  genitum  se  credere  mundo. 

Lucan. 

Not  for  himself,  but  for  the  world,  he  lives. 

A PUBLIC  spirit  is  so  great  and  amiable  a cha- 
racter, that  most  people  pretend  to  it,  and  per- 
haps think  they  have  it  in  the  most  ordinary  oc- 
currences of  life.  Mrs.  Cornelia  Lizard  buys 
abundance  of  romances  for  the  encouragement 
of  learning  ; and  Mrs.  Annabella  squanders 
away  her  money  in  buying  fine  clothes,  because 
it  sets  a great  man}'  poor  people  at  work.  I 
know  a gentleman,  who  drinks  vast  quantities 
of  ale  and  October  to  encourage  our  own  manu- 
factures ; and  another  who  takes  liis  three  bot- 
tles of  French  claret  every  night,  because  it 
brings  a great  custom  to  the  crown. 

I have  been  led  into  this  chat,  by  reading 
some  letters  upon  my  paper  of  Thursday  was 
se’nnight.  Having  there  acquainted  the  world, 
that  I have,  by  long  contemplation  and  philoso- 
phy, attained  to  so  great  a strength  of  fancy,  as 
to  believe  every  thing  to  be  my  own,  which 
other  people  possess  only  for  ostentation ; it 
seems  that  some  persons  have  taken  it  in  their 
heads,  that  they  are  public  benefactors  to  the 
world,  while  they  are  only  indulging  their  own 
ambition,  or  infirmities.  My  first  letter  is  from 
an  ingenious  author,  w'ho  is  a great  friend  to  his 
country,  because  he  can  get  neither  victuals  nor 
clothes  any  other  way. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘ Sir, — Of  all  the  precautions  with  which  you 
have  instructed  the  world,  I like  that  best,  which 
is  upon  natural  and  fantastical  pleasure,  because 
it  falls  in  very  much  with  rny  owm  way  of  think- 
ing. As  you  receive  real  delight  from  what 
creates  only  imaginary  satisfactions  in  others  ; 
so  do  I raise  to  myself  all  the  conveniences  of 
life  by  amusing  the  fancy  of  the  w'orld.  I am, 
in  a word,  a member  of  that  numerous  tribe, 
who  write  for  their  daily  bread.  I flourish  in  a 
dearth  of  foreign  news;  and  though  I do  not 
pretend  to  the  spleen,  I am  never  so  well  as  in 
the  time  of  a westerly  wind.  When  it  blows 
from  that  auspicious  point,  I raise  to  myself 
contributions  from  the  British  isle,  by  affright- 
ing my  superstitious  countrymen  w'ith  printed 
relations  of  murders,  spirits,  prodigies,  or  mon- 
sters. According  as  my  necessities  suggest  to 
me,  I hereby  provide  for  my  being.  The  last 
summer  I paid  a large  debt  for  brandy  and  to- 
bacco, by  a wonderful  description  of  a fiery  dra- 
gon, and  lived  for  ten  days  together  upon  a 
whale  and  a mermaid.  When  winter  draw's 
near,  I generally  conjure  up  my  spirits,  and 
have  my  apparitions  ready  against  long  dark 
evenings.  From  November  last  to  January,  I 
lived  solely  upon  murders ; and  have,  since  that 


[No.  58.  I 

time,  had  a comfortable  subsistence  from  a i 
plague  and  a famine.  I made  the  pope  pay  for  i 
my  beef  and  mutton  last  Lent,  out  of  pure  spite 
to  the  Romish  religion  ; and  at  present  my  good 
friend  the  king  of  Sweden  finds  me  in  clean 
linen, and  the  mufti  gets  me  credit  at  the  tavern. 

‘ The  astonishing  accounts  that  I record,  I 
usually  enliven  with  wooden  cuts,  and  the  like 
paltry  embellishments.  They  administer  to  the 
curiosity  of  my  fellow-subjects,  and  not  only  ad- 
vance religion  and  virtue,  but  take  restless  spi- 
rits off  from  meddling  with  the  public  affairs. 

I therefore  cannot  think  myself  a useless  burden 
upon  earth;  and  that  I may  still  do  the  more 
good  in  my  generation,  I shall  give  the  world, 
in  a short  time,  a history  of  my  life,  studies, 
maxims,  and  achievements,  provided  my  book- 
seller advances  a round  sum  for  my  copy.  I am, 
sir,  yours.’ 

The  second  is  from  an  old  friend  of  mine  in 
the  country,  who  fancies  that  he  is  perpetually  1 
doing  good,  because  he  cannot  live  without  | 
drinking. 

‘Old  Iron’, — We  take  thy  papers  in  at  the 
bowling-green,  where  the  country  gentlemen 
meet  every  Tuesday,  and  we  look  upon  thee  as 
a comical  dog.  Sir  Harry  vras  hugely  pleased 
at  thy  fancy  of  growing  rich  at  other  folks’  cost ; 
and  for  my  own  part  I like  my  own  w’ay  of  life 
the  better  since  I find  I do  my  neighbours  as 
much  good  as  myself.  I now  smoke  iny  pipe 
witli  the  greater  pleasure,  because  my  wife  says 
she  likes  it  well  enough  at  second  hand?  and 
drink  stale  beer  the  more  hardly,  because,  un- 
less I w’ill,  nobody  else  does.  I design  to  stand 
for  our  borough  the  next  election,  on  purpose  to 
make  the  squire  on  t’other  side,  tap  lustily  for 
the  good  of  our  town  ; and  have  some  thoughts 
of  trying  to  get  knighted,  because  our  neigh- 
hours  take  a pride  in  saying,  they  have  been 
w’ith  sir  Such-a-one. 

‘ I have  a pack  of  pure  slow  hounds  against 
thou  comest  into  the  country,  and  Nanny,  my 
fat  doe,  shall  bleed  when  we  have  thee  at  Haw'- 
thorn-hall.  Pr’ythee  do  not  keep  staring  at 
gilt  coaches,  and  stealing  necklaces  and  trinkets 
from  people  wuth  thy  looks.  Take  my  word 
for  it,  a gallon  of  my  October  will  do  thee  more 
good  than  all  thou  canst  get  by  fine  sights  at 
London,  which  I’ll  engage,  thou  may’st  put  in 
the  shine  of  thine  eye. — I am,  old  Iron,  thine 
to  command, 

‘NIC.  HAWTHORN.’ 

The  third  is  from  a lady  who  is  going  to  ruin 
her  family  by  coaches  and  liveries,  purely  out 
of  compassion  to  us  poor  people  that  cannot  go 
to  the  price  of  them. 

‘ Sir, — I am  a lady  of  birth  and  fortune,  but 
never  knew,  till  last  Thursday,  that  the  splen- 
dour of  my  equipage  was  so  beneficial  to  my 
country.  I will  not  deny  that  I have  drest  for 
some  years  out  of  the  pride  of  my  heart ; but 
am  very  glad  that  you  have  so  far  settled  my 
conscience  in  that  particular,  that  I can  now 
look  upon  my  vanities  as  so  many  virtues.  Since 
I am  satisfied  that  my  person  and  garb  give  plea- 
sure to  my  fellow-creatures,  I shall  not  think  the 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


87 


No.  59.] 

three  hours  business  I usually  attend  at  my  toi- 
lette, below  the  dignity  of  a rational  soul.  I am 
content  to  suffer  great  torment  from  my  slays, 
that  my  shape  may  appear  graceful  to  the  eyes 
of  others  ; and  often  mortify  myself  with  fasting, 
rather  than  my  fatness  should  give  distaste  to 
any  man  in  England. 

‘ I am  making  up  a rich  brocade  for  the  bene, 
fit  of  mankind,  and  design,  in  a little  time,  to 
treat  the  town  with  a thousand  pounds  worth  of 
jewels.  I have  ordered  my  chariot  to  be  new 
painted  for  your  use,  and  the  world’s  ; and  have 
prevailed  upon  my  husband  to  present  you  with 
a pair  of  fine  Flanders  mares,  by  driving  them 
every  evening  round  the  ring.  Gay  pendants 
for  my  ears,  a costly  cross  for  my  neck,  a dia- 
mond of  the  best  water  for  my  finger,  shall  be 
purchased  at  any  rate  to  enrich  you  ; and  I am 
resolved  to  be  a patriot  in  every  limb.  My  hus- 
band will  not  scruple  to  oblige  me  in  these 
trifles,  since  I have  persuaded  him  from  your 
scheme,  that  pin  money  is  only  so  much  set 
apart  for  charitable  uses.  You  see,  sir,  how  ex- 
pensive you  are  to  me,  and  I hope  you  will 
esteem  me  accordingly  ; especially  when  I as- 
sure you  that  I am,  as  far  as  you  can  see  me, 
entirely  yours,  CLEORA.’ 


No.  59.]  Tuesday,  May  19,  1713. 

Sic  honor  et  nomen  divinis  vatibus  atque 

Canninibus  venit 

Ilor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  400. 

So  ancient  is  the  pedigree  of  verse, 

And  so  divine  a poet’s  function. 

Roscommon. 

The  tragedy  of  Cato  has  increased  the  num- 
ber of  my  correspondents,  but  none  of  them  can 
take  it  ill,  that  I give  the  preference  to  the  let- 
ters which  cotne  from  a learned  body,  and  which 
on  this  occasion  may  not  improperly  be  termed 
the  Plausus  Academici.  The  first  is  from  my 
lady  Lizard’s  youngest  son,  who,  (as  I men- 
tioned in  a former  precaution)  is  fellow  of  All- 
souls, and  applies  himself  to  the  study  of  di- 
vinity. 

‘Sir, — I return  you  thanks  for  your  present 
of  Cato:  I have  read  it  over  several  times  with 
the  greatest  attention  and  pleasure  imaginable. 
You  desire  to  know  my  thoughts  of  it,  and  at 
the  same  time  compliment  me  upon  my  know- 
ledge of  the  ancient  poets.  Perhaps  you  may 
not  allow  me  to  be  a good  judge  of  them,  when 
I tell  you,  that  the  tragedy  of  Cato  exceeds, 
in  my  opinion,  any  of  the  dramatic  pieces  of 
the  ancients.  But  these  are  books  I have  some 
tune  since  laid  by  ; being,  as  you  know,  engaged 
in  the  reading  of  divinity,  and  conversant 
chiefly  in  the  poetry  “ of  the  truly  inspired 
wu’iters.”  I scarce  thought  any  modern  tragedy 
could  have  mixed  suitably  with  such  serious 
studies,  and  little  imagined  to  have  found  such 
exquisite  poetry,  much  less  such  exalted  senti- 
ments of  virtue,  in  the  dramatic  performance 
of  a contemporary.  , 

‘ How  elegant,  just,  and  virtuous  is  that  re- 
flection of  Portius  ? 


“ The  ways  of  heaven  aro  dark  and  intricate, 
Piiz/.Ied  in  mazes,  and  perplex’d  ivith  errors; 

Onr  understanding  traces  ’em  in  vain, 

Lost  and  bewilder’d  in  the  fruitless  search  ; 

Nor  sees  with  how  much  art  the  windings  run, 

Nor  where  the  regular  confusion  ends.” 

‘ Cato’s  soliloquy  at  the  beginning  of  the  fifth 
act  is  inimitable,  as  indeed  is  almost  every  thing 
in  the  whole  play:  but  what  I would  observe, 
by  particularly  pointing  at  these  places  is,  that 
sueh  virtuous  and  moral  sentiments  wmre  never 
before  put  into  the  mouth  of  a British  actor ; 
and  I congratulate  my  countrymen  on  the  vir- 
tue they  have  shown  in  giving  them  (as  you 
tell  me)  such  loud  and  repeated  applauses. 
They  have  now  cleared  themselves  of  the  im- 
putation which  a late  writer  had  thrown  upon 
them  in  his  502d  speculation.  Give  me  leave 
to  transcribe  his  words  : — 

“ In  the  first  scene  of  Terence’s  play,  the 
Self-Tormentor,  when  one  of  the  old  men  ac- 
cuses the  other  of  impertinence  tor  interposing 
in  his  affairs,  he  answers,  ‘ I am  a man,  and 
cannot  help  feeling  any  sorrow  that  can  arrive 
at  man.’  It  is  said  this  sentence  was  received 
w'ith  universal  applause.  There  cannot  be  a 
greater  argument  of  the  general  good  under- 
standing of  a people,  than  a sudden  consent  to 
give  their  approbation  of  a sentiment  which  has 
no  emotion  in  it. 

“ If  it  were  spoken  with  never  so  great  skill 
in  the  actor,  the  manner  of  uttering  that  sen- 
tence  could  have  nothing  in  it  which  could 
strike  any  but  people  of  the  greatest  humanity, 
nay  people  elegant  and  skilful  in  observations 
upon  it.  It  is  possible  he  might  have  laid  his 
hand  on  his  breast,  and  with  a winning  insinua- 
tion in  his  countenance,  expressed  to  his  neigh- 
bour, that  he  was  a man  who  made  his  case  his 
own  ; yet  I wilt  engage  a player  in  Covent-gar- 
den  might  hit  such  an  attitude  a thousand  times 
before  he  would  have  been  regarded,”  ‘These 
observations  in  favour  of  the  Roman  people, 
may  now  be  very  justly  applied  to  our  own 
nation. 

“ Here  wiil  I bold.  If  there’s  a power  .Tbovc  us 

(And  that  there  is,  all  nature  cries  aloud 

Through  all  her  works')  He  must  delight  in  virtue; 

And  that  which  He  delights  in  must  be  happy.” 

‘ This  will  be  allowed,  I hope,  to  be  as  virtu- 
ous a sentiment  as  that  which  he  quotes  out  of 
Terenee  ; and  the  general  applause  with  which 
(you  say)  it  was  received,  must  certainly  make 
tins  writer  (notwithstanding  his  great  assurance 
in  pronouncing  upon  our  ill  taste)  alter  his 
opinion  of  his  countrymen. 

‘ Our  poetry,  I believe,  and  not  our  morals, 
has  been  generally  worse  than  that  of  the  Ro- 
mans;  for  it  is  plain,  when  we  can  equal  the 
best  dramatic  performance  of  that  polite  age, 
a British  audience  may  vie  with  the  Roman 
theatre  in  the  virtue  of  their  applauses. 

‘ However  different  in  other  things  our  opi- 
nions may  be,  all  parties  agree  in  doing  honour 
to  a man,  who  is  an  honour  to  our  country. 
How  are  our  hearts  warmed  by  this  exceilont 
tragedy,  with  the  love  of  liberty,  and  our  con- 
stitution ! How  irresistible  is  virtue  in  the  cha- 
racter of  Cato ! Who  would  not  say  with  the 
Numidian  prince  to  Marcia, 


88 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


“ I ’ll  gaze  for  ever  on  thy  godlike  father, 
Transplanting,  one  by  one,  into  my  life 
His  bright  perfections,  till  I shine  like  him.” 

Rome  herself  received  not  so  great  advantages 
from  her  patriot,  as  Britain  will  from  this  ad- 
mirable representation  of  him.  Our  British 
Cato  improves  our  language,  as  well  as  our  mo- 
rals, nor  will  it  be  in  the  power  of  tyrants  to 
rob  us  of  him,  (or  to  use  the  last  line  of  an  epi- 
gram to  the  author) 

“ In  vain  your  Cato  stabs,  he  cannot  die.” 

‘I  am,  sir,  your  most  obliged  humble  servant, 

‘ WILLIAM  LIZARD. 

‘ Oxon.  All-souls  Col.  May  6.’ 

‘ Oxon.  Christ  Church,  May  7. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — You  are,  I perceive,  a very 
wary  old  fellow,  more  cautious  than  a late  bro- 
ther-writer of  yours,  who  at  the  rehearsal  of  a 
new  play,  would  at  the  hazard  of  his  judgment, 
endeavour  to  prepossess  the  town  in  its  favour  : 
whereas  you  very  prudently  waited  till  the  tra- 
gedy of  Cato  had  gained  a universal  and  irresist- 
ible applause,  and  then  w’ith  great  boldness  ven- 
ture to  pronounce  your  opinion  of  it  to  be  the 
same  with  that  of  all  mankind.  I will  leave  you 
to  consider  whether  sucli  a conduct  becomes  a 
Guardian,  who  ought  to  point  out  to  us  proper 
entertainments,  and  instruct  us  when  to  bestow 
our  applause.  However,  in  so  plain  a case  we 
did  not  wait  for  your  directions  ; and  I must 
tell  you,  that  none  here  were  earlier  or  louder 
in  their  praises  of  Cato,  than  we  at  Christ-church. 
This  may,  I hope,  convince  you,  that,  we  don’t 
deserve  the  character  (which  envious  dull  fel- 
lows give  us)  of  allowing  nobody  to  have  wit  or 
parts  but  those  of  our  own  body,  especially  when 
I let  you  know  that  we  are  many  of  us,  your 
affectionate  humble  servants.’ 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘ Oxon.  Wad.  Coll.  May  7. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — Were  the  seat  of  the  muses 
silent  while  London  is  so  loud  in  their  applause 
of  Cato,  the  university’s  title  to  that  name  might 
very  well  be  suspected  ; — in  justice  therefore  to 
your  alma  mater,  let  the  wmrld  know  our  opinion 
of  that  tragedy  here. 

‘ The  author’s  other  works  had  raised  our  ex- 
pectation of  it  to  a very  great  height,  yet  it 
exceeds  whatever  we  could  promise  ourselves 
from  so  great  a genius. 

‘ Csesar  will  no  longer  be  a hero  in  our  de- 
clamations. This  tragedy  has  at  once  stripped 
him  of  all  the  flattery  and  false  colours,  wliich 
historians  and  the  classic  authors  had  thrown 
upon  him,  and  we  shall  for  the  future  treat  him 
as  a murderer  of  the  best  patriot  of  his  age, 
and  a destroyer  of  the  liberties  of  his  country. 
Cato,  as  represented  in  these  scenes,  will  cast  a 
blacker  shade  on  the  memory  of  that  usurper, 
than  the  picture  of  him  did  upon  his  triumph. 
Had  this  linished  dramatic  piece  appeared  some 
hundred  years  ago,  Caesar  would  have  lost  so 
many  centuries  of  fame,  and  monarchs  had  dis- 
dained to  let  themselves  be  called  by  his  name. 
However,  it  will  be  an  honour  to  the  times  we 
live  in,  to  have  had  such  a wmrk  produced  in 
them,  and  a pretty  speculation  for  posterity  to 


[No.  60. 

observe,  that  the  tragedy  of  Cato  was  acted 
with  general  applause  in  1713.  I am,  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant,  &,c.  A.  B. 

‘ P.  S.  The  French  translation  of  Cato  now 
in  the  press,  will,  I hope,  be  in  usum  DelphinV 


No.  60.]  Wednesday,  May  20,  1713. 

Nihil  legebat  quod  non  excerporet.  Plin.  Epist. 

He  pick’d  something  out  of  every  thing  he  read. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘Sir, — There  is  nothing  in  which  men  deceive 
themselves  more  ridiculously  than  in  the  point 
of  reading,  and  which,  as  it  is  commonly  prac- 
tised under  the  notion  of  improvement,  has  less 
advantage.  The  generality  of  readers  who  are 
pleased  with  wandering  over  a number  of  books, 
almost  at  the  same  instant,  or  if  confined  to  one, 
who  pursue  the  author  with  much  hurry  and 
impatience  to  his  last  page,  must,  without  doubt, 
be  allowed  to  be  notable  digesters.  7’his  un- 
settled way  of  reading  naturally  seduces  us  into 
as  undetermined  a manner  of  thinking,  which 
unprofitably  fatigues  the  imagination,  when  a 
continued  chain  of  thought  would  probably 
produce  inestimable  conclusions.  All  authors 
are  eligible  either  for  their  matter,  or  style ; if 
for  the  first,  the  elucidation  and  disposition  of 
it  into  proper  lights  ought  to  employ  a judicious 
reader  : if  for  tlie  last,  he  ought  to  observe  how 
some  common  words  are  started  into  a new 
signification,  how  such  epithets  are  beautifully 
reconciled  to  things  that  seemed  incompatible, 
and  must  often  remember  the  whole  structure 
of  a period,  because,  by  the  least  transposition, 
that  assemblage  of  words  which  is  called  a style 
becomes  utterly  annihilated.  The  swift  des- 
patch  of  common  readers  not  only  eludes  their 
memory,  but  betrays  their  apprehension,  when 
the  turn  of  thought  and  expression  would  in- 
sensibly grow  natural  to  them,  would  they  but 
give  themselves  time  to  receive  the  impression. 
Suppose  we  fix  one  of  these  readers  in  his  easy 
chair,  and  observe  him  passing  through  a book 
with  a grave  ruminating  face,  how  ridiculously 
must  he  look,  if  we  desire  him  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  an  author  he  has  just  read  over  ! and 
how  unheeded  must  the  general  character  of  it 
be,  when  given  by  one  of  these  serene  unob- 
servers I The  common  defence  of  these  pcof)ie 
is,  that  they  have  no  design  in  reading  but  for 
pleasure,  which  I think  should  rather  arise  from 
the  reflection  and  remembrance  of  what  one 
has  read,  than  from  the  transient  satisfaction 
of  what  one  does,  and  we  should  be  pleased 
proportionably  as  we  are  profited.  It  is  pro- 
digious arrogance  in  any  one  to  imagine,  that 
by  one  hasty  course  through  a book  he  can 
fully  enter  into  the  soul  and  secrets  of  a writer, 
whose  life  perhaps  has  been  bpsied  in  the  birth 
of  such  production.  Books  that  do  not  imme- 
diately concern  some  profession  or  science,  are 
generally  run  over  as  mere  empty  entertain- 
ments, rather  than  as  matter  of  improvement ; 
though,  in  my  opinion,  a refined  speculation 
upon  morality,  or  history,  requires  as  much 


I 


No.  GL] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


89 


I 


I 

I 


time  and  capacity  to  collect  and  digest,  as  the 
most  abstruse  treatise  of  any  profession ; and 
1 think,  besides,  there  can  be  no  book  well 
written,  but  what  must  necessarily  improve  the 
understanding  of  the  reader,  even  in  the  very 
profession  to  which  he  applies  himself.  For  to 
reason  with  strength,  and  express  himself  with 
propriety,  must  equally  concern  the  divine,  the 
physician,  and  the  lawyer.  My  own  course  of 
looking  into  books  has  occasioned  these  reflec- 
tions, and  the  following  account  may  suggest 
more. 

‘ Having  been  bred  up  under  a relation  that 
had  a pretty  large  study  of  books,  it  became 
my  province  once  a-week  to  dust  them.  In  the 
performance  of  this  my  duty,  as  I was  obliged 
to  take  down  every  particular  book,  I thought 
there  was  no  way  to  deceive  the  toil  of  my 
journey  through  the  different  abodes  and  habit- 
ations of  these  authors  but  by  reading  some- 
thing in  every  one  of  them  ; and  in  this  manner 
to  make  my  passage  easy  from  the  comely  folio 
in  the  upper  shelf  or  region,  even  through  the 
crowd  of  duodecimos  in  the  lower.  By  frequent 
exercise  I became  so  great  a proficient  in  this 
transitory  application  to  books,  that  I could  hold 
open  half  a dozen  small  authors  in  a hand, 
grasping  them  with  as  secure  a dexterity  as  a 
drawer  doth  his  glasses,  and  feasting  my  curious 
eye  with  all  of  them  at  the  same  instant. 
Through  these  methods  the  natural  irresolu- 
tion of  my  youth  was  much  strengthened,  and 
having  no  leisure,  if  I had  had  inclination,  to 
make  pertinent  observations  in  writing,  I was 
thus  confirmed  a very  early  wanderer.  When 
I was  sent  to  Oxford,  my  chiefest  expense 
run  upon  books,  and  my  only  consideration 
in  such  expense  upon  numbers,  so  that  you 
may  be  sure  I had  what  they  call  a choice 
collection,  sometimes  buying  by  the  pound, 
sometimes  by  the  dozen,  at  other  times  by  the 
hundred.  For  the  more  pleasant  use  of  a mul- 
titude of  books,  I had  by  frequent  conferences 
with  an  ingenious  joiner,  contrived  a machine 
of  an  orbicular  structure,  that  had  its  particu- 
lar receptions  for  a dozen  authors,  and  which, 
with  the  least  touch  of  the  finger,  would  whirl 
round,  and  present  the  reader  at  once  with  a 
delicious  view  of  its  full  furniture.  Thrice  a 
day  did  I change,  not  only  the  books,  but  the 
languages  ; and  had  used  my  eye  to  such  a 
quick  succession  of  objects,  that  in  the  most 
precipitate  twirl  I could  catch  a sentence  out 
of  each  author,  as  it  passed  fleeting  by  me. 
Thus  my  hours,  days,  and  years,  flew  unprofit- 
ably  away,  but  yet  were  agreeably  lengthened 
by  being  distinguished  with  this  endearing  va- 
riety ; and  I cannot  but  think  myself  very  for- 
tunate in  my  contrivance  of  this  engine,  with 
its  several  new  editions  and  amendments, 
which  have  contributed  so  much  to  the  deligJit 
of  all  studious  vagabonds.  When  I had  been 
resident  the  usual  time  at  Oxford  that  gains 
one  admission  into  the  public  library,  I was  the 
happiest  creature  on  earth,  promising  to  myself 
most  delightful  travels  through  this  new  world 
of  literature.  Sometimes  you  might  see  me 
mounted  upon  a ladder,  in  search  of  some  Ara- 
bian manuscripts,  which  had  slept  in  a certain 
corner  undisturbed  for  many  years.  Once  I 


had  the  misfortune  to  fall  from  this  eminence,and 
catching  at  the  chains  of  the  books,  was  seen 
hanging  in  a very  merry  posture,  with  two 
or  three  large  folios  rattling  about  my  neck,  till 
the  humanity  of  Mr.  Crab*  the  librarian  disen- 
tangled us. 

‘ As  I always  held  it  necessary  to  read  in  pub- 
lic places,  by  way  of  ostentation,  but  could  not 
possibly  travel  with  a library  in  my  pockets,  I 
took  the  following  method  to  gratify  this  errant- 
ry of  mine.  I contrived  a little  pocket-book, 
each  leaf  of  which  was  a diflerent  author,  so 
that  my  wandering  was  indulged  and  concealed 
within  the  same  inclosure. 

‘ This  extravagant  humour,  which  should 
seem  to  pronounce  me  irrecoverable,  had  the 
contrary  effect ; and  my  hand  and  eye  being 
thus  confined  to  a single  book,  in  a little  time 
reconciled  me  to  the  perusal  of  a single  author. 
However,  I chose  such  a one  as  had  as  little 
connexion  as  possible,  turning  to  the  Proverbs 
of  Solomon,  where  the  best  instructions  are 
thrown  together  in  the  most  beautiful  range 
imaginable,  and  where  I found  all  that  variety 
which  I had  before  sought  in  so  many  different 
authors,  and  which  was  so  necessary  to  beguile 
my  attention.  By  these  proper  degrees,  I have 
made  so  glorious  a reformation  in  my  studies, 
that  I can  keep  company  with  Tully  in  his  most 
extended  periods,  and  work  through  the  con- 
tinued narrations  of  the  most  prolix  historian. 
I now  read  nothing  without  making  exact  col- 
lections, and  shall  shortly  give  the  world  an 
instance  of  this  in  the  publication  of  the  follow- 
ing discourses.  The  first  is  a learned  contro- 
versy about  the  existence  of  griffins,  in  which 
I hope  to  convince  the  world,  that  notwithstand- 
ing such  a mixt  creature  has  been  allowed  by 
/Elian,  Solinus,  Mela,  and  Herodotus,  that  they 
have  been  perfectly  mistaken  in  that  matter, 
and  shall  support  myself  by  the  authority  of 
Albertus,  Pliny,  Aldrovandus,  and  Matthias  Mi- 
chovius,  which  two  last  have  clearly  argued  that 
animal  out  of  the  creation. 

‘ The  second  is  a treatise  of  sternutation  or 
sneezing,  with  the  original  custom  of  saluting 
or  blessing  upon  that  motion  ; as  also  with  a 
problem  from  Aristotle,  showing  why  sneezing 
from  noon  to  night  was  innocent  enough,  from 
night  to  noon,  extremely  unfortunate. 

‘ The  third  and  most  curious  is  my  discourse 
upon  the  nature  of  the  lake  Asphaltites,  or  the 
lake  of  Sodom,  being  a very  careful  inquiry 
whether  brickbats  and  iron  will  swim  in  that 
lake,  and  feathers  sink  ; as  Pliny  and  Mande- 
ville  have  averred. 

‘ The  discussing  these  difficulties  without 
perplexity  or  prejudice,  the  labour  in  collecting 
and  collating  matters  of  this  nature,  will,  I hope, 
in  a great  measure  atone  for  the  idle  hours  I 
have  trifled  away  in  matters  of  less  importance. 

I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant.’ 


No.  61.]  Thursday,  May  21,  1713. 

Primaque  e ca3de  ferarimi 

Incalaisse  putem  maciilatum  sanguine  ferrum. 

Odd.  Met.  Lib.  xv.  106. 


* Tills  is  supposed  to  be  an  oblique  stroke  at  Dr. 
Bentley. 

8* 


90 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No  61. 


Th’  essay  of  bloody  feasts  on  brutes  began, 

And  after  forg'd  the  sword  to  murder  man. 

Dry  den. 

I CANNOT  think  it  extravagant  to  imagine,  that 
mankind  are  no  less  in  proportion  accountable 
for  the  ill  use  of  their  dominioti  over  creatures 
of  the  lower  rank  of  beings,  than  for  the  exer- 
cise of  tyranny  over  their  own  species.  The 
more  entirely  the  inferior  creation  is  submitted 
to  our  power,  the  more  answerable  we  should 
seem  for  our  mismanagement  of  it;  and  the 
rather,  as  the  very  condition  of  nature  renders 
these  creatures  incapable  of  receiving  any  re- 
compense in  another  life  for  their  ill  treatment 
in  this. 

It  is  observable  of  those  noxious  animals, 
which  have  qualities  most  powerful  to  injure  us, 
that  they  naturally  avoid  mankind,  and  never 
hurt  us  unless  provoked  or  necessitated  by  hun- 
ger. Man,  on  the  other  hand,  seeks  out  and 
pursues  even  the  most  inoffensive  animals,  on 
purpose  to  persecute  and  destroy  them. 

Montaigne  thinks  it  some  reflection  upon  hu- 
man nature  itself,  that  few  people  take  delight 
in  seeing  beasts  caress  or  play  together,  but  al- 
most every  one  is  pleased  to  see  them  lacerate 
and  worry  one  another.  I am  sorry  this  temper 
is  become  almost  a distinguishing  character  of 
our  own  nation,  from  the  observation  which  is 
made  by  foreigners  of  our  beloved  pastimes, 
bear-baiting,  cock-fighting,  and  the  like.  We 
sho.uld  find  it  hard  to  vindicate  the  destroying 
of  any  thing  that  has  life,  merely  out  of  wanton- 
ness ; yet  in  this  principle  our  children  are  bred 
up,  and  one  of  the  first  pleasures  w^e  allow  them 
is  the  license  of  inflicting  pain  upon  poor  ani- 
mals ; almost  as  soon  as  we  are  sensible  what 
life  is  ourselves,  we  make  it  our  sport  to  take  it 
from  other  creatures.  I cannot  but  believe  a 
very  good  use  might  be  made  of  the  fancy  which 
children  have  for  birds  and  insects.  Mr.  Locke 
takes  notice  of  a mother  who  permitted  them 
to  her  children,  but  rewarded  or  punished  them 
as  they  treated  them  well  or  ill.  This  was  no 
other  than  entering  them  betimes  into  a daily 
exercise  of  humanity,  and  improving  their  very 
diversion  to  a virtue. 

I fancy  too,  some  advantage  might  be  taken 
of  the  common  notion,  that  it  is  ominous  or  un- 
lucky to  destroy  some  sorts  of  birds,  as  swal- 
lows or  martins ; this  opinion  might  possibly 
arise  from  the  confidence  these  birds  seem  to 
put  in  us  by  building  under  our  roofs,  so  that  it 
is  a kind  of  violation  of  the  laws  of  hospitality 
to  murder  them.  As  for  robin-redbreasts  in 
particular,  it  is  not  improbable  they  owe  their 
security  to  the  old  ballad  of  the  Children  in  the 
Wood.  However  it  be,  I do  not  know,  I say, 
why  this  prejudice,  well  improved  and  carried 
as  far  as  it  w'ould  go,  might  not  be  made  to  con- 
duce to  the  preservation  of  many  innocent  crea- 
tures, which  are  now  exposed  to  all  the  wanton- 
ness of  an  ignorant  barbarity. 

There  are  other  animals  that  have  the  mis- 
fortune, for  no  manner  of  reason,  to  be  treated 
as  common  enemies,  wherever  found.  The  con- 
ceit that  a cat  has  nine  lives,  has  cost  at  least 
nine  lives  in  ten  of  the  whole  race  of  them. 
Scarce  a boy  in  the  streets  but  has  in  this  point 


outdone  Hercules  himself,  who  was  famous  for 
killing  a m.onster  that  had  but  three  lives. — 
Whether  the  unaccountable  animosity  against 
this  useful  domestic  may  be  any  cause  of  the 
general  persecution  of  owls,  (who  are  a sort  of 
feathered  cats,)  or  whether  it  be  only  an  unrea- 
sonable pique  the  moderns  have  taken  to  a seri- 
ous countenance,  I shall  not  determine,  though 
I am  inclined  to  believe  the  former;  since  I ob- 
serve the  sole  reason  alleged  for  the  destruction 
of  frogs,  is  because  they  are  like  toads.  Yet 
amidst  all  the  misfortunes  of  these  unfriended 
creatures,  it  is  some  happiness  that  we  have  not 
yet  taken  a fancy  to  eat  them:  for  should  our 
countrymen  refine  upon  the  French  never  so 
little,  it  is  not  to  be  conceived  to  what  unheard- 
of  torments  owds,  cats,  and  frogs  may  be  yet 
reserved. 

When  w'e  grow  up  to  men,  we  have  another 
succession  of  sanguinary  sports ; in  particular 
hunting.  I dare  not  attack  a diversion  which 
has  such  authority  and  custom  to  support  it ; 
but  must  have  leave  to  be  of  opinion,  that  the 
agitation  of  that  exercise,  with  the  example  and 
number  of  the  chaser.s,  not  a little  contribute  to 
resist  those  checks,  which  compassion  w'ould 
naturally  suggest  in  behalf  of  the  animal  pur- 
sued. Nor  shall  I say  with  monsieur  Fleury, 
that  this  sport  is  a remain  of  the  Gothic  bar- 
barity. But  I must  animadvert  upon  a certain 
custom  yet  in  use  with  us,  and  barbarous 
enough  to  be  derived  from  the  Goths,  or  even 
the  Scythians;  I mean  that  savage  compliment 
our  huntsmen  pass  upon  ladies  of  quality,  who 
are  present  at  the  death  of  a stag,  when  they 
put  the  knife  in  their  hands  to  cut  the  throat 
of  a helpless,  trembling,  and  w’eeping  creature. 

‘ Q,uestuque  cruentus, 

Atque  imploranti  similis.’ 

‘ That  lies  beneath  the  knife. 

Looks  up,  and  from  her  butcher  begs  her  life.’ 

But  if  our  sports  are  destructive,  our  gluttony 
is  more  so,  and  in  a more  inhuman  manner. 
Lobsters  roasted  alive,  pigs  whipt  to  death,  fowls 
sewed  up,  are  testimonies  of  our  outrageous 
luxury.  Those  who  (as  Seneca  expresses  it)  di- 
vide their  lives  betwixt  an  anxious  conscience 
and  a nauseated  stomach,  have  a just  reward  of 
their  gluttony  in  the  di.seases  it  brings  with  it; 
for  human  savages,  like  other  wild  beasts,  find 
snares  and  poison  in  the  provisions  of  life,  and 
are  allured  by  their  appetite  to  their  destruction. 
I know  nothing  more  shocking  or  horrid  than 
the  prospect  of  one  of  their  kitchens  covered 
with  blood,  and  filled  with  the  cries  of  creatures 
expiring  in  tortures.  It  gives  one  an  image  of 
a giant’s  den  in  a romance,  bestrewed  with  the 
scattered  heads  and  mangled  limbs  of  those  who 
were  slain  by  his  cruelty. 

The  excellent  Plutarch  (who  has  more  strokes 
of  good-nature  in  his  w'ritings  than  I remember 
in  any  author)  cites  a saying  of  Cato  to  this  ef- 
fect, “That  it  is  no  easy  task  to  preach  to  the 
belly,  which  has  no  ears.”  ‘Yet  if,’ says  he, 
‘ we  are  ashamed  to  be  so  out  of  fashion  as  not 
to  offend,  let  us  at  least  offend  with  some  dis- 
cretion and  measure.  If  we  kill  an  animal  for 
our  provision,  let  us  do  it  with  the  meltings  of 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


01 


I No.  61.] 

compassion,  and  wiiliont  tormenting-  it.  Let  us 
consider,  that  it  is  in  its  own  nature  cruelty  to 
put  a living  creature  to  death ; we  at  least  de- 
stroy a soul  that  has  sense  and  perception.’ — In 
the  life  of  Cato  the  Censor,  he  takes  occasion, 

» from  the  severe  disposition  of  that  man,  to  dis- 
course in  this  manner  : ‘ It  ought  to  be  esteem- 
^ ed  a happiness  to  mankind,  that  our  humanity 
[ has  a wider  sphere  to  exert  itself  in  than  bare 

I justice.  It  is  no  more  than  the  obligation  of 

our  very  birth  to  practise  equity  to  our  own 
j kind ; but  humanity  may  be  extended  through 
the  whole  order  of  creatures,  even  to  the  mean- 
est. Such  actions  of  charity  are  the  overflow- 
ings of  a mild  good-nature  on  all  below  us.  It 
is  certainly  the  part  of  a well-natured  man  to 
take  care  of  his  horses  and  dogs,  not  only  in 
expectation  of  their  labour  while  they  are  foals 
and  whelps,  but  even  when  their  old  age  has 
made  them  incapable  of  service.’ 

History  tells  us  of  a wise  and  polite  nation, 
that  rejected  a person  of  the  first  quality,  who 
stood  for  a judiciary  office,  only  because  he  had 
been  observed  in  his  youth  to  take  pleasure  in 
tearing  and  murdering  of  birds.  And  of  another 
that  expelled  a man  out  of  the  senate,  for  dash- 
I ing  a bird  against  the  ground  which  had  taken 
shelter  in  his  bosom.  Every  one  knows  how  re- 
I markable  the  Turks  are  for  their  humanity  in 
this  kind.  I remember  an  Arabian  author,  who 
has  written  a treatise  to  show,  how  far  a man, 
supposed  to  have  subsisted  in  a desert  island, 
without  any  instruction,  or  so  much  as  the  sight 
j of  any  other  man,  may,  by  the  pure  light  of  na- 
ture, attain  the  knowledge  of  philosophy  and 
virtue.  One  of  the  first  things  he  makes  him 
observe  is,  that  universal  benevolence  of  nature 
in  the  protection  and  preservation  of  its  crea- 
tures. In  imitation  of  which  the  first  act  of  vir- 
tue he  thinks  his  self-taught  philosopher  would 
of  course  fall  into  is,  to  relieve  and  assist  all  the 
animals  about  him  in  their  wants  and  distresses. 

Ovid  has  some  very  tender  and  pathetic  lines 
applicable  to  this  occasion : 

Quid  meruistis,  oves,  placidum  pecus,  inque  tegendos 
, Natum  hoiniiies,  plnno  quae  fertis  in  ubere  nectar  ? 
j Mollia  qu!E  nobis  vestras  velainina  lanas 

Pr.Tbetis;  vitaqiie  ntagis  quain  inorte  juvatis. 

Quid  ineruere  boves,  animal  sine  fiaude  dolisque, 
Innocuiim,  simplex,  natum  tolerare  laboies? 
Immemor  est  demum,  nec  frugum  munere  dignus, 
Qui  potnit,  citrvi  demptn  modo  pondero  aratri, 
Ruricolam  mactare  suum J\Ict.  Lib.  xv.  ]1G. 

Quam  male  consuevit,  quam  se  parat  ille  cruori 
Impius  liumano,  vituli  qui  guttura  cultro 
Rumpit,  et  immotas  pnebet  mugitibus  aures! 

Aut  qui  vagitus  similes  puerilibus  hoedum 
Edentem  jugulare  potest! Ib.  ver.  463. 

The  sheep  was  sacrittc’d  on  no  pretence, 

But  meek  and  unresisting  innocence. 

A patient,  useful  creature,  born  to  bear  [er  ; 

The  warm  and  woolly  fleece,  that  cloth’d  her  murder- 
And  daily  to  give  down  the  milk  she  bred, 

A tribute  for  the  grass  on  which  she  fed. 

Living,  both  food  and  raiment  she  supplies. 

And  is  oflea.st  advantage  when  she  dies. 

How  did  the  toiling  ox  his  death  deserve; 

A downright  simple  drudge,  and  born  to  serve? 

O tyrant!  with  what  justice  canst  thou  hope 
The  promise  of  the  year,  a plenteous  crop  ; 

When  thou  destroy’st  thy  lab’ring  steer,  who  till’d, 
And  plough’d  with  pains,  thy  else  ungrateful  field! 
From  his  yet  reeking  neck  to  draw  the  yoke. 

That  neck,  with  which  the  surly  clods  he  broke  : 


And  to  the  hatchet  yield  tbv  husbandman. 
Who  finish’d  autumn,  and  the  spring  began  ? 


What  more  advance  can  mortals  make  in  sin 
So  near  perfection,  wlio  w ith  blood  begin  ? 

Deaf  to  the  calf  that  lies  beneath  the  knife. 

Looks  up,  and  from  her  butcher  begs  her  life: 

Deaf  to  the  harmless  kid,  that  ere  he  dies, 

All  methods  to  procure  thy  mercy  tries. 

And  imitates  in  vain  the  children's  cries.  Drydcti 

Perhaps  that  voice  or  cry  so  nearly  resem- 
bling the  human,  with  which  Providence  has 
endued  so  many  different  animals,  might  pur- 
posely be  given  them  to  move  our  pity,  and 
prevent  those  cruelties  we  are  too  apt  to  inflict 
on  our  fellow-creatures. 

There  is  a passage  in  the  book  of  Jonas, 
when  God  declares  his  unwillingness  to  destroy 
Nineveh,  where  methinks  that  compassion  of 
the  Creator,  which  extends  to  the  meanest  rank 
of  his  creatures,  is  expressed  with  wonderful 

tenderness, ‘Should  I not  spare  Nineveh, 

that  great  city,  wherein  are  more  than  six  score 

thousand  persons and  also  much  cattle?’ 

And  we  have  in  Deuteronomy  a precept  of  great 
good-nature  of  this  sort,  with  a blessing  in  form 
annexed  to  it,  in  those  words : ‘ If  thou  shalt 
find  a bird’s  nest  in  the  way,  thou  shalt  not 
take  the  dam  with  the  young:  But  thou  shalt 
in  any  wise  let  the  dam  go;  that  it  may  be  well 
w'ith  thee,  and  that  thou  may’st  prolong  thy 
days.’ 

To  conclude,  there  is  certainly  a degree  of 
gratitude  owing  to  those  animals  that  serve  us. 
As  for  such  as  are  mortal  or  noxious,  we  have  a 
right  to  destroy  them;  and  for  those  that  are 
neither  of  advantage  or  prejudice  to  us,  the 
common  enjoyment  of  life  is  what  I cannot 
think  we  ought  to  deprive  them  of. 

This  whole  matter,  with  regard  to  each  of 
these  considerations,  is  set  in  a very  agreeable 
light  in  one  of  the  Persian  fables  of  Pilpay,  with 
which  I shall  end  this  paper. 

A traveller  passing  through  a thieket,  and 
seeing  a few  sparks  of  a fire,  which  some  passen- 
gers had  kindled  as  they  went  that  way  before, 
made  upto  it.  On  a sudden  the  sparks  caught  hold 
of  a bush  in  the  midst  of  which  lay  an  adder, 
and  set  it  in  flames.  The  adder  entreated  the 
traveller’s  assistance,  who  tying  a bag  to  the 
end  of  his  staff,  reached  it,  and  drew  him  out: 
he  then  bid  him  go  where  he  pleased,  but  never 
more  be  hurtful  to  men,  since  he  ownd  his  life 
to  a man’s  compassion.  The  adder,  however, 
prepared  to  sting  him,  and  when  he  expostu- 
lated how  unjust  it  was  to  retaliate  good  with 
evil,  ‘ I shall  do  no  more,’  said  the  adder,  ‘ than 
what  you  men  practise  every  day,  whose  custom 
it  is  to  requite  benefits  with  ingratitude.  If  you 
cannot  deny  this  truth,  let  us  refer  it  to  the  first 
we  meet.’  The  man  consented,  and  seeing  a 
tree,  put  the  question  to  it,  in  what  manner  a 
good  turn  was  to  be  recompensed?  ‘If  you 
mean  according  to  the  usage  of  men,’  replied 
the  tree,  ‘by  its  contrary  : I have  been  stand- 
ing here  these  hundred  years  to  protect  them 
from  the  scorching  sun,  and  in  requital  they 
have  cut  down  my  branches,  and  are  going  to 
saw  my  body  into  planks.’  Upon  this,  the  adder 
insulting  the  man,  he  appealed  to  a second  evi- 
dence, which  was  granted,  and  immediately 


92 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  62. 


they  met  a cow.  The  same  demand  was  made, 
and  much  the  same  answer  given,  that  among 
men  it  was  certainly  so.  ‘ I know  it,’  said  the 
cow,  ‘ by  woful  experience ; for  I have  served 
a man  this  long  time  with  milk,  butter,  and 
cheese,  and  brought  him  besides  a calf  every 
year ; but  now  I am  old,  he  turns  me  into  this 
pasture  with  design  to  sell  me  to  a butcher,  who 
will  shortly  make  an  end  of  me.’  The  traveller 
upon  this  stood  confounded,  but  desired,  of 
courtesy,  one  trial  more,  to  be  finally  judged 
by  the  next  beast  they  should  meet.  This  hap- 
pened  to  be  the  fox,  who,  upon  hearing  the  story 
in  all  its  circumstances,  could  not  be  persuaded 
it  was  possible  for  the  adder  to  enter  in  so  nar- 
row a bag.  The  adder,  to  convince  him,  went 
in  again ; when  the  fox  told  the  man  he  had 
now  his  enemy  in  his  power,  and  with  that  he 
fastened  the  bag,  and  crushed  him  to  pieces. 


No.  62.]  Friday^  May  22,  1713. 

O fortiuiatos  niiniimi,  sua  si  bona  norint ! 

Virg.  Georg,  ii.  45B. 

Too  happy,  if  they  knew  their  happy  state.  , 

Upon  the  late  election  of  king’s  scholars,  my 
curiosity  drew  me  to  Westminster  school.  The 
sight  of  a place  where  I had  not  been  for  many 
years,  revived  in  my  thoughts  the  tender  images 
of  my  childhood,  whicli  by  a great  length  of 
time  had  contracted  a softness  that  rendered 
them  inexpressibly  agreeable.  As  it  is  usual 
with  me  to  drav;  a secret  unenvied  pleasure 
from  a thousand  incidents  overlooked  by  other 
men,  I threw  myself  into  a short  transport, 
forgetting  my  age,  and  fancying  myself  a 
school-boy. 

This  imagination  was  strongly  favoured  by 
the  presence  of  so  man}^  young  boys,  in  whose 
looks  were  legible  the  sprightly  passions  of  that 
age,  which  raised  in  me  a sort  of  sympathy. 
Warm  blood  thrilled  through  every  vein  ; the 
faded  memory  of  those  enjoyments  that  once 
gave  me  pleasure  put  on  more  lively  colours, 
and  a thousand  gay  amusements  filled  my  mind. 

It  was  not  without  regret,  that  I was  for- 
saken by  this  waking  dream.  The  cheapness 
of  puerile  delights,  the  guiltless  joy  they  leave 
upon  the  mind,  the  blooming  hopes  that  lift  up 
the  soul  in  the  ascent  of  life,  the  pleasure  that 
attends  the  gradual  opening  of  the  imagination, 
and  the  dawn  of  reason,  made  me  think  most 
men  found  that  stage  the  most  agreeable  part  of 
their  journey. 

When  men  come  to  riper  years,  the  innocent 
diversions  which  exalted  the  spirits  and  pro- 
duced health  of  body,  indolence  of  mind,  and 
refreshing  slumbers,  are  too  often  exchanged 
for  criminal  delights,  which  fill  the  soul  with 
anguish,  and  the  body  with  disease.  The  grate- 
ful employment  of  admiring  and  raising  them- 
selves to  an  imitation  of  the  polite  style,  beautiful 
images,  and  noble  sentiments  of  ancient  authors, 
is  abandoned  for  law-latin,  the  lucubrations  of 
our  paltry  news-mongers,  and  that  swarm  of 
vile  pamphlets,  which  corrupt  our  taste,  and 
infest  the  public.  The  ideas  of  virtue  which 
tlie  characters  of  heroes  had  imprinted  on  their 


minds,  insensibly  wear  out,  and  they  come  to 
be  influenced  by  the  nearer  examples  of  a dege- 
nerate age. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  when  the  soul  first 
makes  her  entrance  into  the  world,  all  things 
look  fresh  and  gay ; their  novelty  surprises, 
and  every  little  glitter  or  gaudy  colour  trans- 
ports the  stranger.  But  by  degrees  the  sense 
grows  callous,  and  we  lose  that  exquisite  relish 
of  trifles  by  the  time  our  minds  should  be  sup- 
posed ripe  for  rational  entertainments.  I can- 
not make  this  reflection  without  being  touched 
with  a commiseration  of  that  species  called 
beau.x,  the  happiness  of  those  men  necessarily 
terminating  with  their  childhood  ; who,  from  a 
want  of  knowing  other  pursuits,  continue  a fond- 
ness for  the  delights  of  that  age,  after  the  relish 
of  them  is  decayed. 

Providence  hath  with  a bountiful  hand  pre- 
pared variety  of  pleasures  for  the  various  stages 
of  life.  It  behoves  us  not  to  be  wanting  to 
ourselves,  in  forwarding  the  intention  of  nature, 
by  the  culture  of  our  minds,  and  a due  prepara- 
tion of  each  faculty  for  the  enjoyment  of  those 
objects  it  is  capable  of  being  aflected  with. 

As  our  parts  open  and  display  by  gentle  de- 
grees, we  rise  from  the  gratifications  of  sense, 
to  relish  those  of  the  mind.  In  the  scale  of 
pleasure,  the  lowest  are  sensual  delights,  which 
are  succeeded  by  the  more  enlarged  views  and 
gay  portraitures  of  a lively  imagination  ; and 
these  give  way  to  the  sublimer  pleasures  of 
reason,  which  discover  the  causes  and  designs, 
the  frame,  connexion,  and  symmetry  of  things, 
and  fills  the  mind  with  the  contemplation  of 
intellectual  beauty,  order,  and  truth. 

Hence  I regard  our  public  schools  and  uni- 
versities, not  only  as  nurseries  of  men  for  the 
service  of  the  church  and  state,  but  also  as 
places  designed  to  teach  mankind  the  most 
refined  luxury,  to  raise  the  mind  to  its  due 
perfection,  and  give  it  a taste  for  those  enter- 
tainments which  aflord  the  highest  transport, 
without  the  grossness  or  remorse  that  attend 
vulgar  enjoyments. 

In  those  blessed  retreats  men  enjoy  the 
sweets  of  solitude,  and  yet  converse  with  the 
greatest  genii  that  have  appeared  in  every  age, 
wander  through  the  delightful  mazes  of  every 
art  and  science,  and  as  they  gradually  enlarge 
their  sphere  of  knowledge,  at  once  rejoice  in 
their  present  possessions,  and  are  animated  by 
the  boundless  prospect  of  future  discoveries. 
There,  a generous  emulation,  a noble  thirst  of 
fame,  a love  of  truth  and  honourable  regards, 
reign  in  minds  as  yet  untainted  from  the  world. 
There,  the  stock  of  learning  transmitted  down 
from  the  ancients,  is  preserved,  and  receives  a 
daily  increase  ; and  it  is  thence  propagated  by 
men,  who,  having  finished  their  studies,  go  into 
the  world,  and  spread  that  general  knowledge 
and  good  taste  throughout  the  land,  which  is  so 
distant  from  the  barbarism  of  its  ancient  inha- 
bitants, or  the  fierce  genius  of  its  invaders. 
And  as  it  is  evident  that  our  literature  is  owing 
to  the  schools  and  universities,  so  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  these  are  owing  to  our  religion. 

It  was  chiefly,  if  not  altogether,  upon  reli- 
gious considerations  that  princes,  as  well  as 
private  persons,  have  erected  colleges,  and 


No.  63.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


93 


assigned  liberal  endowments  to  students  and 
i professors.  Upon  the  same  account  they  meet 
with  encouragement  and  protection  from  all 
Christian  states,  as  being  esteemed  a necessary 
means  to  have  the  sacred  oracles  and  primitive 
traditions  of  Christianity  preserved  and  under- 
stood. And  it  is  well  known,  that  after  a long 
night  of  ignorance  and  superstition,  the  re- 
I formation  of  the  church  and  that  of  learning 
y began  together,  and  made  proportionable  ad- 
^ vances,  the  latter  having  been  the  effect  of  tlie 
i former,  which  of  course  engaged  men  in  the 
I study  of  the  learned  languages,  and  of  anti- 
h quity. 

Or,  if  a free-thinker  is  ignorant  of  these  facts, 
he  may  be  convinced  from  the  manifest  reason 
III  of  the  thing.  Is  it  not  plain  that  our  skill  in 
t!  literature  is  owing  to  the  knowledge  of  Greek 
1 and  Latin,  which,  that  they  are  still  preserved 

!*'  among  us,  can  be  ascribed  only  to  a religious 
regard  ? What  else  should  be  the  cause  why 
the  youth  of  Christendom,  above  the  rest  of 
mankind,  are  educated  in  the  painful  study  of 
those  dead  languages  ; and  that  religious  so- 
cieties should  peculiarly  be  employed  in  acquir- 
ing that  sort  of  knowledge,  and  teaching  it  to 
others  ? 

And  it  is  more  than  probable,  that  in  case 
our  free-thinkers  could  once  achieve  their  glo- 
rious design  of  sinking  the  credit  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion,  and  causing  those  revenues  to  be 
I withdrawn  which  their  wiser  forefathers  had 
appointed  to  the  support  and  encouragement  of 
its  teachers,  in  a little  time  the  Shaster  would 
be  as  intelligible  as  the  Greek  Testament ; and 
we,  who  want  that  spirit  and  curiosity  which 
distinguished  the  ancient  Grecians,  would  by 
degrees  relapse  into  the  same  state  of  barbarism 
which  overspread  the  northern  nations,  before 
they  were  enlightened  by  Christianity. 

Some  perhaps,  from  the  ill-tendency  and  vile 
taste  whichi  appear  in  their  writings,  may  sus- 
pect that  the  free-thinkers  are  carrying  on  a 
malicious  design  against  the  belles  lettres  : for 
my  part,  I rather  conceive  them  as  unthinking 
wretches,  of  short  views  and  narrow  capacities, 
who  are  not  able  to  penetrate  into  the  causes 
or  consequences  of  things. 


No.  63.]  Saturday^  May  23,  1713. 

Zso  TTXTig,  etXKx  (TV  gvrrxt  vt'  >)5poj  vixg  'Axxttuv, 

rioj^io-ov,  S'  xiSp>]v,  Sep  S'  o^SxXjuoitrtv  tSsa-jxi^ 

’Ev  Ss  oxicra-ov.  Horn.  II.  xvii.  645. 

I O King  ! O Father ! hear  my  humble  prayer  : 

Dispel  this  cloud,  the  light  of  heaven  restore, 

I Give  me  to  see,  and  Ajax  asks  no  more  : 

If  Greece  must  perish,  we  thy  will  obey, 

I But  let  us  perish  in  the  face  of  day  ! Pope. 

I AM  obliged,  for  many  reasons,  to  insert  this 
, first  letter,  though  it  takes  me  out  of  my  way, 

i especially  on  a Saturday  ; but  the  ribaldry  of 

some  part  of  that  will  be  abundantly  made  up 
j by  the  quotation  in  the  second. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside.,  Esquire. 

‘ Fiaday,  May  22,  1713. 

‘ Sir, — The  Examiner  of  this  day  consists  of 


reflections  upon  the  letter  I writ  to  you,  publish- 
ed  in  yours  of  the  twelfth  instant.  The  sentence 
upon  which  he  spends  most  of  his  invectives, 
is  this,  “ I will  give  myself  no  manner  of  liberty 
to  make  guesses  at  him,  if  I may  say  him,  for 
though  sometimes  I have  been  told  by  familiar 
friends,  that  they  saw  me  such  a time  talking 
to  the  Examiner : others  who  have  rallied  me 
upon  the  sins  of  my  youth,  tell  me  it  is  credibly 
reported  that  I have  formerly  lain  with  the 
Examiner.” 

‘ Now,  Mr.  Ironside,  what  was  there  in  all 
this  but  saying,  “I  cannot  tell  what  to  do  in 
this  case.  There  has  been  named  for  this 
paper,  one  for  whom  I have  a value,  and  another 
whom  I cannot  but  neglect  ?”  I have  named 
no  man,  but  if  there  be  any  gentleman  who 
wrongfully  lies  under  the  imputation  of  being 
or  assisting  the  Examiner,  he  would  do  well  to 
do  himself  justice,  under  his  own  hand,  in  the 
eye  of  the  world.  As  to  the  exasperated  mis- 
tress, the  Examiner  demands  in  her  behalf,  a 
“ reparation  for  offended  innocence.”  This  is 
pleasant  language,  when  spoken  of  this  person  ; 
he  wants  to  have  me  unsay  what  he  makes  me 
to  have  said  before.  I declare  then  it  was  a 
false  report,  which  was  spread  concerning  me 
and  a lady,  sometimes  reputed  the  author  of  the 
Examiner  ; and  I can  now  make  her  no  repara- 
tion, but  in  begging  her  pardon,  that  I never 
lay  with  her. 

‘ I speak  all  this  only  in  regard  to  the  Exa- 
miner’s offended  innocence,  and  will  make  no 
reply  as  to  what  relates  merely  to  myself.  I 
have  said  before,  “ he  is  welcome  from  henee- 
forward,  to  treat  me  as  he  pleases.”  But  the 
bit  of  Greek,  which  I entreat  you  to  put  at  the 
front  of  to-morrow’s  paper,  speaks  all  my  sense 
on  this  occasion.  It  is  a speech  put  in  the 
mouth  of  Ajax,  who  is  engaged  in  the  dark  ; 
He  cries  out  to  Jupiter,  “Give  me  but  day- 
light, let  me  but  see  rny  foe,  and  let  him  destroy 
me  if  he  can.” 

‘ But  when  he  repeats  his  story  of  the  “ ge- 
neral for  life,”  I cannot  hear  him  with  so  much 
patience.  He  may  insinuate  what  he  pleases 
to  the  ministry  of  me  ; but  I am  sure  I could 
not,  if  I would,  by  detraction,  do  them  more 
injury  than  he  does  by  his  ill-placed,  ignorant, 
nauseous  flattery.  One  of  them,  whose  talent 
is  address,  and  skill  in  the  world,  he  calls  Cato  ; 
another,  whose  praise  is  conversation-wit  and 
a taste  of  pleasures,  is  also  Cato.  Can  any 
thing  in  nature  be  more  out  of  character,  or 
more  expose  those  whom  he  would  recommend 
to  the  raillery  of  his  adversaries,  than  compar- 
ing these  to  Cato  ? But  gentlemen  of  their 
eminence  are  to  be  treated  with  respect,  and 
not  to  suffer  because  a sycophant  has  applaud- 
ed them  in  a wrong  place. 

‘As  mueh  as  he  says  I am  in  defiance  with 
those  in  present  power,  I will  lay  before  them 
one  point  that  would  do  them  more  honour  than 
any  one  circumstance  in  their  whole  adminis- 
tration ; which  is,  to  show  their  resentment  of 
the  Examiner’s  nauseous  applause  of  them- 
selves, and  licentious  calumny  of  their  prede- 
cessors. Till  they  do  themselves  that  justiee, 
men  of  sense  will  believe  they  are  pleased  with 
the  adulation  of  a prostitute,  who  heaps  upon 


94 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


them  injudicious  applauses,  for  which  he  makes 
way  by  random  abuses  upon  those  who  are  in 
present  possession  of  all  that  is  laudable.  I am, 
sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

‘RICHARD  STEELE.’ 

‘ To  Mr.  Ironside. 

‘ Sir, — A mind  so  well  qualified  as  your’s,  must 
receive  every  day  large  improvements,  when 
exercised  upon  such  truths  which  are  the  glory 
of  our  natures;  such  as  those  which  lead  us  to 
an  endless  happiness  in  our  life  succeeding  this. 
I herewith  send  you  Dr.  Lucas’s  Practical 
Christianity,  for  your  serious  perusal.  If  you 
have  already  read  it,  I desire  you  would  give  it 
to  one  of  your  friends  who  has  not.  I think 
you  cannot  recommend  it  better  than  in  insert- 
ing by  way  of  specimen  these  passages  which 
I point  to  you,  as  follows: — 

“ That  I have,  in  this  state  I am  now  in,  a 
soul  as  well  as  a body,  whose  interest  concerns 
me,  is  a truth  my  sense  sufficiently  discovers : 
For  I feel  joys  and  sorrows,  which  do  not  make 
their  abode  in  the  organs  of  the  body,  but  in  the 
inmost  recesses  of  the  mind ; pains  and  plea- 
sures which  sense  is  too  gross  and  heavy  to 
partake  of,  as  the  peace  or  trouble  of  conscience 
in  the  reffection  upon  good  or  evil  actions,  the 
delight  or  vexation  of  the  mind,  in  the  contem- 
plation of,  or  a fruitless  inquiry  after,  excellent 
and  important  truths. 

“ And  since  I have  such  a soul  capable  of 
happiness  or  misery,  it  naturally  follows,  that 
it  were  sottish  and  unreasonable  to  lose  this 
soul  for  the  gain  of  the  whole  world.  For  ray 
soul  is  I myself,  and  if  that  be  miserable,  I 
must  needs  be  so.  Outward  circumstances  of 
fortune  may  give  the  world  occasion  to  think 
me  happy,  but  they  can  never  make  me  so. 
Shall  I call  myself  happy,  if  discontent  and 
sorrow  eat  out  the  life  and  spirit  of  my  soul  ? if 
lusts  and  passions  riot  and  mutiny  in  my  bo- 
som ? if  my  sins  scatter  an  uneasy  shame  all 
over  me,  and  my  guilt  appals  and  frights  me  ? 
What  avails  it  me,  that  my  rooms  are  stately, 
my  tables  full,  my  attendants  numerous,  and 
my  attire  gaudy,  if  all  this  while  my  very  being 
pines  and  languishes  away  ? These  indeed  are 
rich  and  pleasant  things,  but  I nevertheless  am 
a poor  and  miserable  man.  Therefore  I con- 
clude, that  whatever  this  thing  be  I call  a soul, 
though  it  were  a perishing,  dying  thing,  and 
would  not  outlive  the  body,  yet  it  were  my  wis- 
dom and  interest  to  prefer  its  content  and  satis- 
faction before  all  the  world,  unless  I could 
choose  to  be  miserable,  and  delight  to  be  un- 
happy. 

“This  very  consideration,  supposing  the  un- 
certainty of  another  world,  would  yet  strongly 
engage  me  to  the  service  of  religion  ; for  all  it 
aims  at,  is  to  banish  sin  out  of  the  world,  which 
is  the  source  and  original  of  all  the  troubles 
that  disquiet  the  mind  ; 1st.  Sin  in  its  very  es- 
sence, is  nothing  else  but  disordered,  distem- 
pered passions,  affections  foolish  and  preposter- 
ous in  their  choice,  or  wild  and  extravagant  in 
their  proportion,  which  our  own  experience  suf- 
ficiently convinces  us  to  be  painful  and  uneasy. 
2d.  It  engages  us  in  desperate  hazards,  wearies 
us  with  daily  toils,  and  often  buries  us  in  the 


[No.  C4. 

ruins  we  bring  upon  ourselves ; and  lastl}’-,  it 
fills  our  hearts  with  distrust,  and  fear,  and 
shame;  for  we  shall  never  be  able  to  persuade 
ourselves  fully,  that  there  is  no  difference  be- 
tween good  and  evil ; that  there  is  no  God,  or  none 
that  concerns  himself  at  the  actions  of  this  life  : 
and  if  we  cannot,  we  can  never  rid  ourselves  of 
the  pangs  and  stings  of  a troubled  conscience  ; 
we  shall  never  be  able  to  establish  a peace  and 
calm  in  our  bosoms ; and  so  enjoy  our  pleasure 
with  a clear  and  uninterrupted  freedom.  But 
if  we  could  persuade  ourselves  into  the  utmost 
height  of  atheism,  yet  still  we  shall  be  under 
these  two  strange  inconveniences  : 1st.  That  a 
life  of  sin  will  be  still  irregular  and  disorderly, 
and  therefore  troublesome : 2d.  That  we  shall 
have  dismantled  our  souls  of  their  greatest 
strength,  disarmed  them  of  that  faith  which 
only  can  support  them  under  the  atffictions  of 
this  present  life.”  ’ 


No.  64.]  Monday,  May  25,  1713.  ' 

Levium  spectacula  renim. 

Virg.  Georg,  iv.  3. 

Trifles  set  out  to  show. 

I AM  told  by  several  persons  whom  I have 
taken  into  my  ward,  that  it  is  to  their  great 
damage  I have  digressed  so  much  of  late  from 
the  natural  course  of  my  precautions.  They 
have  addressed  and  petitioned  me  with  appel- 
lations and  titles,  which  admonish  me  to  be  ' 
that  sort  of  patron  which  they  want  me  to  be, 
as  follows. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esq.  Patron  of  the  Indus-  » 
trious. 

‘ The  humble  petition  of  John  Longbottom,  | 
Charles  Lilly,  Bat.  Pidgeon,  and  J.  Norwood,  ( 
capital  artificers,  most  humbly  showeth, 

‘ That  your  petitioners  behold  with  great 
sorrow,  your  honour  employing  your  important  t 
moments  in  remedying  matters  which  nothing  t 
hut  time  can  cure,  and  which  do  not  so  imme- 
diately, or  at  least  so  professedly,  appertain  to 
your  office,  as  do  the  concerns  of  us  your  peti-  ' 
tioners,  and  other  handicraft  persons,  who  excel 
in  their  different  and  respective  dexterities. 

‘ That  as  all  mechanics  are  employed  in  ac- 
commodating the  dwellings,  clothing  the  per- 
sons, or  preparing  the  diet  of  mankind,  your 
petitioners  ought  to  be  placed  first  in  your  guar- 
dianship, as  being  useful  in  a degree  superior  , 
to  all  other  workmen,  and  as  being  wholly  con- 
versant in  clearing  and  adorning  the  head  of 
man. 

‘ That  the  said  Longbottom,  above  all  the  rest  I 
of  mankind,  is  skilful  in  taking  off  that  horrid  | 
excrescence  on  the  chins  of  all  males,  and  cast-  | 
ing,  by  the  touch  of  his  hand,  a cheerfulness 
where  that  excrescence  grew;  an  art  known 
only  to  this  your  artificer. 

‘ That  Charles  Lilly  prepares  snuff  and  per- 
fumes which  refresh  the  brain  in  those  that  ' 
have  too  much  for  their  quiet,  and  gladdens  it 
in  those  who  have  too  little  to  know  their  want 
of  it.  4 

‘ That  Bat.  Pidgeon  cuts  the  luxuriant  locks 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


95 


J 

I No.  64.] 

growing-  from  the  upper  part  of  the  head,  in  so 
artful  a manner,  with  regard  to  the  visage,  that 
he  makes  the  ringlets,  falling  by  the  temples, 
conspire  with  the  brows  and  lashes  of  the  eye, 
to  heighten  the  expressions  of  modesty  and  in- 
timations of  good-will,  which  are  most  infallibly 
communicated  by  ocular  glances. 

‘That  J.  Norwood  forms  periwigs  with  re- 
spect to  particular  persons  and  visages,  on  the 
same  plan  that  Bat.  Pidgeon  corrects  natural 
hair;  that  he  has  a strict  regard  to  the  climate 
under  which  his  customer  was  born,  before  he 
I pretends  to  cover  his  head  ; that  no  part  of  his 
i|  wig  is  composed  of  hair  which  grew  above 
twenty  miles  from  the  buyer’s  place  of  nativity  ; 
that  the  very  neck-lock  grew  in  the  same  coun- 
ty, and  all  the  hair  to  the  face  in  the  very  parish 
where  he  was  born. 

‘ That  these  your  cephalic  operators  humbly 
k entreat  your  more  frequent  attention  to  the  me- 
; chanic  arts,  and  that  you  would  place  your 
I petitioners  at  the  head  of  the  family  of  the  cos- 
metics, and  your  petitioners  shall  ever  pray,  &c.’ 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esq.  Guardian  of  Good 
Fame. 

‘ The  memorial  of  Esau  Ringwood,  showeth, 

‘That  though  nymphs  and  shepherds,  son- 
nets and  complaints,  are  no  more  to  be  seen  or 
heard  in  the  forests  and  chases  of  Great  Britain, 
yet  are  not  the  huntsmen  who  now  frequent  the 
I woods  so  barbarous  as  represented  in  the  Guar- 
dian of  the  twenty-first  instant ; that  the  knife 
is  not  presented  to  the  lady  of  quality  by  the 
huntsman  to  cut  the  throat  of  the  deer  : but 
after  he  is  killed,  that  instrument  is  given  her, 
i as  the  animal  is  now  become  food,  in  token  that 
all  our  labour,  joy,  and  exultation  in  the  pursuit, 

' were  excited  from  the  sole  hope  of  making  the 
stag  an  offering  to  her  table  ; that  your  honour 
has  detracted  from  the  humanity  of  sportsmen 
in  this  representation;  that  they  demand  you 
would  retract  your  error,  and  distinguish  Bri- 
tons from  Scythians. 

I ‘ P.  S.  Repent,  and  eat  venison.’ 

j ‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire,  Avenger  of 
i Detraction. 

‘The  humble  petition  of  Susan  How-d’ye-call, 
most  humbly  showeth, 

‘That  your  petitioner  is  mentioned  at  all  vi- 
sits, with  an  account  of  facts  done  by  her,  of 
speeches  she  has  made,  and  of  journeys  she  has 
taken,  to  all  which  circumstances  your  peti- 
tioner is  wholly  a stranger;  that  in  every  family 
in  Great  Britain,  glasses  and  cups  are  broken, 
and  utensils  displaced,  and  all  these  faults  laid 
upon  Mrs.  How-d’ye-call;  that  your  petitioner 
has  applied  to  counsel,  upon  these  grievances  ; 
that  your  petitioner  is  advised,  that  her  case  is 
the  same  with  that  of  John-a-Styles,  and  that 
she  is  abused  only  by  way  of  form ; your  peti- 
tioner therefore  most  humbly  prays,  that  in  be- 
half of  herself,  and  all  otliers  defamed  under  the 
term  of  Mr.  or  Mrs,  How-d’ye-call,  you  will 
grant  her  and  them  the  following  concessions  : 
that  no  reproach  shall  take  place  where  the 
person  has  not  an  opportunity  of  defending 
himself;  that  the  phrase  of  a “ certain  person,” 


means  “no certain  person  ;”  that  the  “ How-d’ye- 
calls,”  “ some  people,”  “ a certain  set  of  men,” 
“ there  are  folks  now-a-days,”  and  “ things  are 
come  to  that  pass,”  are  words  that  shall  concern 
nobody  after  the  present  Monday  in  Whitsun- 
week,  1713. 

‘ That  it  is  baseness  to  offend  any  person, 
except  the  offender  exposes  himself  to  that  per- 
son’s examination ; that  no  woman  is  defamed 
by  any  man,  without  he  names  her  name  ; that 
“exasperated  mistress,”  “false  fair,”  and  the  like, 
shall  from  the  said  Whitsun-Monday,  signify 
no  more  than  Cloe,  Corinna,  or  Mrs.  How-d’ye- 
call  ; that  your  petitioner,  being  an  old  maid, 
may  be  joined  in  marriage  to  John-a-Nokes,  or, 
in  case  of  his  being  resolved  upon  celibacy,  to 
Tom  Long,  the  carrier,  and  your  petitioner 
shall  ever  pray,  &c.’ 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire 

‘ The  humble  petition  of  Hugh  Pounce,  of  Grub- 
street,  showeth, 

‘ That  in  your  first  paper  you  have  touched 
upon  the  affinity  between  all  arts  which  concern 
the  good  of  society,  and  professed  that  you 
should  pro.mote  a good  understanding  between 
them. 

‘ That  your  petitioner  is  skilful  in  the  art  and 
mystery  of  writing  verses  or  distichs. 

‘ That  your  petitioner  does  not  write  for  vain- 
glory, but  for  the  use  of  society. 

‘ That,  like  the  art  of  painting  upon  glass,  the 
more  durable  work  of  writing  upon  iron  is  al- 
most lost. 

‘ That  your  petitioner  is  retained  as  poet  to 
the  Ironmongers  company. 

‘Your  petitioner  therefore  humbly  desires 
you  would  protect  him  in  the  sole  making  of 
posies  for  knives,  and  all  manner  of  learning  to 
be  wrought  on  iron,  and  your  petitioner  shall 
ever  pray.’ 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — Though  every  body  has  been  talking 
or  writing  on  the  subject  of  Cato,  ever  since  the 
world  was  obliged  with  that  tragedy,  there  has 
not,  methinks,  been  an  examination  of  it,  which 
sufficiently  shows  the  skill  of  the  author  merely 
as  a poet.  There  are  peculiar  graces  which 
ordinary  readers  ought  to  be  instructed  how  to 
admire  ; among  others,  I am  charmed  with  his 
artificial  expressions  in  well  adapted  similies  : 
there  is  no  part  of  writing  in  which  it  is  more 
difficult  to  succeed,  for  on  sublime  occasions  it 
requires  at  once  the  utmost  strength  of  the  ima- 
gination, and  the  severest  correction  of  the 
judgment.  Thus  Syphax,  when  he  is  forming 
to  himself  the  sudden  and  unexpected  destruc- 
tion which  is  to  befall  the  man  he  hates,  ex- 
presses himself  in  an  image  which  none  but 
a Numidian  could  have  a lively  sense  of ; but 
yet,  if  the  author  had  ranged  over  all  the  ob- 
jects upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  he  could  not 
have  found  a representation  of  a disaster  so 
great,  so  sudden,  and  so  dreadful  as  this: 

‘ So  where  our  wide  Numidian  wastes  extend, 

Sudden  th’  impetuous  hurricanes  descend, 

Wheel  throuffh  the  air,  in  circling  eddies  play, 

Tear  up  tlie  sands,  and  sweep  whole  plains  away. 


96 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


The  helpless  traveller,  with  wild  surprise,  i 
Sees  the  dry  desert  all  around  him  rise,  ^ 

And  smother’d  in  the  dusty  whirlwind,  dies.  ) 

‘ When  Sempronius  promises  himself  the  pos- 
session of  Marcia  by  a rape,  he  triumphs  in  the 
prospect,  and  exults  in  his  villany,  by  represent- 
ing it  to  himself  in  a manner  wonderfully  suited 
to  the  vanity  and  impiety  of  his  character. 

So  Pluto,  seized  of  Proserpine,  conveyed 
To  hell’s  tremendous  gloom  th’  affrighted  maid  ; 

There 'grimly  smil’d,  pleased  with  the  beauteous  prize. 
Nor  envy’d  Jove  his  sunshine  and  his  skies. 

‘Pray  old  Nestor,  trouble  thyself  no  more  with 
the  squabbles  of  old  lovers  ; tell  them  from  me 
now  they  are  past  the  sins  of  the  flesh,  they  are 
got  into  those  of  the  spirit;  desire  hurts  the 
soul  less  than  malice  ; it  is  not  now,  as  when 
they  were  Sappho  and  Phaon.  I am,  sir,  your 
affectionate  humble  servant,  A.  B.’ 


No.  65.]  Tuesday^  May  26,  1713. 

Inter  scabiem  tantam  et  contagia. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  xii.  13. 

Amidst  the  poison  of  such  infectious  times.  » 

There  is  not  any  where,  I believe,  so  much 
talk  about  religion,  as  among  us  in  England  ; 
nor  do  I think  it  possible  for  the  wit  of  man  to 
devise  forms  of  address  to  the  Almighty,  in 
more  ardent  and  forcible  terms  than  are  every 
where  to  be  found  in  our  book  of  common 
prayer  ; and  yet  I have  heard  it  read  with  such 
a negligence,  affectation,  and  impatience,  that 
the  efficacy  of  it  has  been  apparently  lost  to  all 
the  congregation.  For  rny  part,  I make  no 
scruple  to  own  it,  that  I go  sometimes  to  a par- 
ticular place  in  the  city,  far  distant  from  mine 
own  home,  to  hear  a gentleman,  whose  manner 
I admire,  read  the  liturgy.  I am  persuaded 
devotion  is  the  greatest  pleasure  of  his  soul,  and 
there  is  none  hears  him  read  without  the  ut- 
most reverence.  I have  seen  the  young  people, 
who  have  been  interchanging  glances  of  pas- 
sion to  each  other’s  person,  checked  into  an  at- 
tention to  the  service  at  the  interruption  which 
the  authority  of  his  voice  has  given  them.  But 
the  other  morning  I happened  to  rise  earlier 
than  ordinary,  and  thought  I could  not  pass  my 
time  better,  than  to  go  upon  the  admonition  of 
the  morning  bell,  to  the  church  prayers  at  six 
of  the  clock,  I was  there  the  first  of  any  in 
the  congregation,  and  had  the  opportunity,  how- 
ever I made  use  of  it,  to  look  back  on  all  my 
life,  and  contemplate  the  blessing  and  advantage 
of  such  stated  early  hours  for  offering  ourselves 
to  our  Creator,  and  prepossess  ourselves  with 
the  love  of  Him,  and  the  hopes  we  have  from 
Him,  against  the  snares  of  business  and  plea- 
sure in  the  ensuing  day.  But  whether  it  be 
that  people  think  fit  to  indulge  their  own  ease 
in  some  secret,  pleasing  fault,  or  whatever  it 
was,  there  was  none  at  the  confession  but  a set 
of  poor  scrubs  of  us,  who  could  sin  only  in  our 
wills,  whose  persons  could  be  no  temptation  to 
one  another,  and  might  have,  without  interrup- 
tion from  any  body  else,  humble,  lowly  hearts, 
in  frightful  looks  and  dirty  dresses,  at  our  lei- 
sure. When  wo  poor  souls  had  presented  our- 


[No.  65. 

selves  with  a contrition  suitable  to  our  worth- 
lessness, some  pretty  young  ladies  in  mobs, 
popped  in  here  and  there  about  the  church, 
clattering  the  pew-door  after  them,  and  squat-  . 
ting  into  a whisper  behind  their  fans.  Among  j 
others,  one  of  lady  Lizard’s  daughters,  and  her  | 
hopeful  maid,  made  their  entrance  : the  young 
lady  did  not  omit  the  ardent  form  behind  the 
fan,  while  the  maid  immediately  gaped  round 
her  to  look  for  some  other  devout  person,  whom  ) 

I saw  at  a distance  very  well  dressed ; his  air  i 

and  habit  a little  military,  but  in  the  pertness, 
not  the  true  possession,  of  the  martial  charac- 
ter. This  jackanapes  was  fixed  at  the  end  of  a 
pew,  with  the  utmost  impudence,  declaring,  by 
a fixed  eye  on  that  seat  (where  our  beauty  was 
placed)  the  object  of  his  devotion.  This  obscene 
sight  gave  me  all  the  indignation  imaginable, 
and  I could  attend  to  nothing  but  the  reflection, 
that  the  greatest  affronts  imaginable  are  such 
as  no  one  can  take  notice  of.  Before  I was  out 
of  such  vexatious  inadvertencies  to  the  business 
of  the  place,  there  was  a great  deal  of  good  com- 
pany now  come  in.  There  was  a good  number 
of  very  janty  slatterns,  who  gave  us  to  under- 
stand, that  it  is  neither  dress  nor  art  to  which 
they  were  beholden  for  the  town’s  admiration. 
Besides  these,  there  were  also  by  this  time  ar- 
rived two  or  three  sets  of  whisperers,  who  carry 
on  most  of  their  calumnies  by  what  they  enter- 
tain one  another  v/ith  in  that  place,  and  we  were 
now  altogether  very  good  company.  There 
were  indeed  a few,  in  whose  looks  there  ap- 
peared a heavenly  joy  and  gladness  upon  the 
entrance  of  a new  day,  as  if  they  had  gone  to 
sleep  with  expectation  of  it.  For  the  sake  of 
these  it  is  worth  while  that  the  church  keeps 
up  such  early  matins  throughout  the  cities  of 
London  and  Westminster ; but  the  generality 
of  those  who  observe  that  hour,  perform  it  with 
so  tasteless  a behaviour,  that  it  appears  a task 
rather  than  a voluntary  act.  But  of  all  the 
world,  those  familiar  ducks  who  are,  as  it  were, 
at  home  at  the  church,  and  by  frequently  meet- 
ing there  throw  the  time  of  prayer  very  negli-  ij 
gently  into  their  common  life,  and  make  their 
coming  together  in  that  place  as  ordinary  as  b 
any  other  action,  and  do  not  turn  their  conver- 
sation  upon  any  improvements  suitable  to  the  J 
true  design  of  that  house,  but  on  trifles  below 
even  their  worldly  concerns  and  characters. 
These  are  little  groups  of  acquaintance  dispersed 
in  all  parts  of  the  town,  who  are,  forsooth,  the 
only  people  of  unspotted  characters,  and  throw 
all  the  spots  that  stick  on  those  of  other  people. 
Malice  is  the  ordinary  vice  of  those  who  live  in  ' 
the  mode  of  religion,  without  the  spirit  of  it. 
The  pleasurable  world  are  hurried  by  their  pas- 
sions above  the  consideration  of  what  others  i 
think  of  them,  into  a pursuit  of  irregular  enjoy-  { 
ments ; while  these,  who  forbear  the  gratifica-  * 
tions  of  flesh  and  blood,  without  having  won  i 
over  the  spirit  to  the  interests  of  virtue,  are  im-  i 
placable  in  defamations  on  the  errors  of  such  9 
who  offend  without  respect  to  fame.  But  the  1 
consideration  of  persons  whom  one  cannot  but  I 
take  notice  of,  when  one  sees  them  in  that  place,  ) 
has  drawn  me  out  of  my  intended  talk,  which  I 
was  to  bewail  that  people  do  not  know  the  plea-  < 
sure  of  early  hours,  and  of  dedicating  their  t 


No.  66.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


97 


II  ness  of  heart,  to  tiieir  Creator.  Experience 
M would  convince  us,  that  tlie  earlier  we  left  our 
. 1 beds,  the  seldomer  should  we  be  confined  to 
them. 

One  great  good  which  would  also  accrue  from 
' this,  were  it  become  a fashion,  would  be,  that  it 
. is  possible  our  chief  divines  would  condescend 
I to  pray  themselves,  or  at  least  those  whom  they 
substitute  would  be  better  supplied,  than  to  be 
forced  to  appear  at  those  oraisons  in  a garb  and 
attire  which  makes  them  appear  mortified  with 
r worldly  want,  and  not  abstracted  from  the  world 
p,  by  the  contempt  of  it.  How  is  it  possible  for  a 

B gentleman,  under  the  income  of  fifty  pounds  a 
3’ear,  to  be  attentive  to  sublime  things  ? He 
. ! must  rise  and  dress  like  a labourer  for  sordid 
I hire,  instead  of  approaching  his  place  of  service 
with  the  utmost  pleasure  and  satisfaction,  that 
now  he  is  going  to  be  mouth  of  a crowd  of 
people  who  have  laid  aside  all  the  distinctions 
of  this  contemptible  being,  to  beseech  a pro- 
tection  under  its  manifold  pains  and  disadvan- 
tages, or  a release  from  it,  by  his  favour  who 
sent  them  into  it.  He  would,  with  decent  su- 
periority, look  upon  himself  as  orator  before 
the  throne  of  grace,  for  a crowd,  who  hang  upon 
his  words,  while  he  asks  for  them  all  that  is 
necessary  in  a transitory  life  ; from  the  assur- 
ance that  a good  behaviour,  for  a few  moments 
in  it,  will  purchase  endless  joy  and  happy  im- 
I mortality. 

I But  who  can  place  himself  in  this  view,  who, 

I though  not  pinched  with  want,  is  distracted  with 

, care  from  the  fear  of  it  ? No  ; a man,  in  the 

I least  degree  below  the  spirit  of  a saint  or  a mar- 

I tyr,  will  loll,  huddle  over  his  duty,  look  con- 

! fused,  or  assume  a resolution  in  his  behaviour 

which  will  be  quite  as  ungraceful,  except  he  is 
supported  above  the  necessities  of  life. 

‘ Power  and  commandment  to  his  minister  to 
I declare  and  pronounce  to  his  people,’  is  men- 
i tioned  with  a very  unguarded  air,  when  the 
' speaker  is  known  in  his  own  private  condition 
I to  be  almost  an  object  of  their  pity  and  charity. 

This  last  circumstance,  with  man}'-  others  here 
I loosely  suggested,  are  the  occasion  that  one 
I knows  not  how  to  recommend,  to  such  as  have 
j not  already  a fixed  sense  of  devotion,  the  plea- 
sure of  passing  the  earliest  hours  of  the  day  in 
a public  congregation.  But  were  this  morning 
solemnity  as  much  in  vogue,  even  as  it  is  now 
at  more  advanced  hours  of  the  day,  it  would 
necessarily  have  so  good  an  effect  upon  us,  as 
to  make  us  more  disengaged  and  cheerful  in 
conversation,  and  less  artful  and  insincere  in 
I business.  The  world  would  be  quite  another 
place  than  it  is  now,  the  rest  of  the  day ; and 
every  face  would  have  an  alacrity  in  it,  which 
can  be  borrowed  from  no  other  reflections,  but 
those  which  give  us  the  assured  protection  of 
Omnipotence. 


No.  68.]  Wednesday,  May  27,  1713. 

S;epo  tribufi  lectis  videas  ccenare  qaatornos  ; 

E quibas  units  avet  qiiavis  asparaere  cunctos, 

PrcEter  eum  qui  proabat  aquain;  post,  hunc  quoque— 
//or.  Lib.  1.  Sat.  iv.  5o.  i 

N 


Set  twelve  at  supper ; one  above  the  rest 

Takes  all  the  talk,  and  breaks  a scurvy  jest 

On  all  except  the  master  of  the  feast ; 

At  last  on  him 

The  following  letter  is  full  of  imagination, 
and  in  a fabulous  manner  sets  forth  a connec- 
tion between  things,  and  an  alliance  between 
persons,  that  are  very  distant  and  remote  to 
common  eyes.  I think  I know  the  hand  to  be 
that  of  a very  ingenious  man,  and  shall  there- 
fore give  it  the  reader  without  farther  preface. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — There  is  a set  of  mankind,  who  are 
wholly  employed  in  the  ill-natured  office  of 
gathering  up  a collection  of  stories  that  lessen 
the  reputation  of  others,  and  spreading  them 
abroad  with  a certain  air  of  satisfaction.  Per- 
haps  indeed,  an  innocent  unmeaning  curiosity, 
a desire  of  being  informed  concerning  those  we 
live  with,  or  a willingness  to  profit  by  reflection 
upon  the  actions  of  others,  may  sometimes 
afford  an  excuse,  or  sometimes  a defence  for 
inquisitiveness  ; but  certainly  it  is  beyond  all 
excuse  a transgression  against  humanity  to 
carry  the  matter  farther,  to  tear  off  the  dress- 
ings as  I may  say,  from  the  wounds  of  a friend, 
and  expose  them  to  the  air  in  cruel  fits  of  diver- 
sion ; and  yet  we  have  something  more  to  be- 
moan, an  outrage  of  a higher  nature,  which 
mankind  is  guilty  of  when  they  are  not  con- 
tent to  spread  the  stories  of  folly,  frailty,  and 
vice,  but  even  enlarge  them,  or  invent  new 
ones,  and  blacken  characters  that  we  may 
appear  ridiculous  or  hateful  to  one  another. 
From  such  practices  as  these  it  happens,  that 
some  feel  a sorrow,  and  others  are  agitated 
with  a spirit  of  revenge  ; that  scandals  or  lies 
are  told,  because  another  has  told  such  before  ; 
that  resentments  and  quarrels  arise,  and  af- 
fronts and  injuries  arc  given,  received,  and 
multiplied,  in  a scene  of  vengeance. 

‘All  this  I have  often  observed  with  abund- 
ance of  concern,  and  having  a perfect  desire  to 
further  the  happiness  of  mankind,  I lately  set 
myself  to  consider  the  causes  from  whence  such 
evils  arise,  and  the  remedies  which  may  be 
applied.  Whereupon  I shut  my  eyes  to  prevent 
a distraction  from  outward  objects,  and  a while 
after  shot  away,  upon  an  impulse  of  thought, 
into  the  world  of  ideas,  where  abstracted  qua- 
lities became  visible  in  such  appearances  as 
were  agreeable  to  each  of  their  natures. 

‘ That  part  of  the  country  where  I happened 
to  light,  was  the  most  noisy  that  I had  ever 
known.  The  winds  whistled,  the  leaves  rustled, 
the  brooks  rumbled,  the  birds  chattered,  the 
tongues  of  men  were  heard,  and  the  echo 
mingled  something  of  every  sound  in  its  repe- 
tition, so  that  there  was  a strange  confusion 
and  uproar  of  sounds  about  me.  At  length, 
as  the  noise  still  increased,  I could  discern  a 
man  habited  like  a herald,  (and  as  I afterwards 
understood)  called  Novelty,  that  came  forward 
proclaiming  a solemn  day  to  be  kept  at  the 
house  ofComm.on  Fame.  Immediately  behind 
him  advanced  three  nymphs,  who  had  mon- 
strous appearances.  The  first  of  these  was 
Curiosity,  habited  like  a virgin,  and  having  a 


98 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No  66. 


! 


hundred  ears  upon  her  head  to  serve  in  her 
inquiries.  The  second  of  these  was  Talkath^e- 
ness,  a little  better  grown  ; she  seemed  to  be 
like  a young  wife,  and  had  a hundred  tongues 
to  spread  her  stories.  The  third  was  Censori- 
ousness, habited  like  a widow,  and  surrounded 
with  a hundred  squinting  eyes  of  a malignant 
influence,  which  so  obliquely  darted  on  all 
around,  that  it  was  impossible  to  say  which 
of  them  had  brought  in  the  information  she 
boasted  of.  These,  as  I was  informed,  had 
been  very  instrumental  in  preserving  and  rear- 
ing Common  Fame,  when  upon  her  birth-day 
she  was  shuffled  into  a crowd,  to  escape  the 
search  which  Truth  might  have  made  after  her 
and  her  parents.  Curiosity  found  her  there. 
Talkativeness  conveyed  her  away,  and  Cen- 
soriousness so  nursed  her  up,  that  in  a short 
time  she  grew  to  a prodigious  size,  and  obtain- 
ed an  empire  over  the  universe  ; wherefore  the 
power,  in  gratitude  for  these  services,  has  since 
advanced  them  to  her  highest  employments. 
The  next  wlio  came  forward  in  the  procession 
was  a light  damsel,  called  Credulity,  who  car- 
ried behind  them  the  lamp,  the  silver  vessel  with 
a spout,  and  other  instruments  proper  for  this 
solemn  occasion. 

‘ She  had  formerly  seen  these  three  together, 
and  conjecturing  from  the  number  of  their  ears, 
tongues,  and  eyes,  that  they  might  be  the  pro- 
per genii  of  Attention,  Familiar  Converse,  and 
Ocular  Demonstration,  she  from  that  time  gave 
herself  up  to  attend  them.  The  last  who  follow- 
ed were  some  who  had  closely  muffled  them- 
selves in  upper  garments,  so  that  I could  not 
discern  who  they  were  ; but  just  as  the  foremost 
of  them  was  come  up,  I am  glad,  says  she, 
calling  me  by  my  name,  to  meet  you  at  this 
time  ; stay  close  by  me,  and  take  a strict  obser- 
vation of  all  that  passes  : her  voice  was  sweet 
and  commanding,  I thought  I had  somewhere 
heard  it;  and  from  her,  as  I went  along,  I 
learned  the  meaning  of  every  thing  which 
offered. 

‘We  now  marched  forward  through  the 
Rookery  of  Rumours,  which  flew  thick,  and 
with  a terrible  din,  all  around  us.  At  length 
we  arrived  at  the  house  of  Common  Fame, 
where  a hecatomb  of  reputations  was  that  day 
to  fall  for  her  pleasure.  The  house  stood  upon 
an  eminence,  having  a thousand  passages  to  it, 
and  a thousand  whispering  holes  for  the  con- 
veyance of  sound.  The  hall  we  entered  was 
formed  with  the  art  of  a music-chamber  for  the 
improvement  of  noises.  Rest  and  silence  are 
banished  the  place.  Stories  of  different  natures 
wander  in  light  flocks  all  about,  sometimes 
truths  and  lies,  or  sometimes  lies  themselves 
clashing  against  one  another.  In  the  middle 
stood  a table  painted  after  the  manner  of  the 
remotest  Asiatic  countries,  upon  which  the 
lamp,  the  silver  vessel,  and  cups  of  a white 
eartli,  were  planted  in  order.  Then  dried  herbs 
were  brought,  collected  for  the  solemnity  in 
moon-shine,  and  water  being  put  to  them,  there 
was  a greenish  liquor  made,  to  which  they 
added  the  flower  of  milk,  and  an  extraction 
from  the  canes  of  America,  for  performing  a 
libation  to  the  infernal  powers  of  fMischief. 
After  this.  Curiosity,  retiring  to  a witridrawing 


room,  brought  forth  the  victims,  being  to  ap-  ^ 

pearance  a set  of  small  waxen  images,  which  ; 

she  laid  upon  the  table  one  after  another. 
Immediately  then  Talkativeness  gave  each  of 
them  the  name  of  some  one,  whom  for  that  time 
they  were  to  represent ; and  Censoriousness 
stuck  them  all  about  with  black  pins,  still  pro- 
nouncing at  every  one  she  stuck,  something  to 
the  prejudice  of  the  persons  represented.  No 
sooner  were  these  rites  performed,  and  incan- 
tations uttered,  but  the  sound  of  a speaking 
trumpet  was  heard  in  the  air,  by  which  they 
knew  the  deity  of  the  place  was  propitiated 
and  assisting.  Upon  this  the  sky  grew  darker, 
a storm  arose,  and  murmurs,  sighs,  groans, 
cries,  and  the  words  of  grief,  or  resentment, 
w-ere  heard  w’ithin  it.  Thus  the  three  sor-  j 
ceresses  discovered,  that  they  whose  names  'i 
they  had  given  to  the  images  were  already 
affected  with  what  w’as  done  to  them  in  effigy. 

The  knowledge  of  this  was  received  w’ith  the  J 
loudest  laughter,  and  in  many  congratulatory  ^ 
words  they  applauded  one  another’s  wit  and 
power. 

‘ As  matters  were  at  this  high  point  of  dis-  4 

order,  the  muffled  lady,  whom  I attended  on,  j 

being  no  longer  able  to  endure  such  barbarous  « 
proceedings,  threw  off  her  upper  garment  of  ^ 
Reserve,  and  appeared  to  be  Truth.  As  soon  j 
as  she  had  confessed  herself  present,  the  speak-  i 
ing  trumpet  ceased  to  sound,  the  sky  cleared  n 
up,  the  storm  abated,  the  noises  which  w’ere  i 
heard  in  it  ended,  the  laughter  of  the  company  i 
w'as  over,  and  a serene  light,  till  then  unknown 
to  the  place,  diffused  around  it.  At  this  the 
detected  sorceresses  endeavoured  to  escape  in  a 
cloud  w’hich  I saw  began  to  thicken  round  them  ; 
but  it  was  soon  dispersed,  their  charms  being  | 
controlled,  and  prevailed  over  by  tbe  superior  i 
divinity.  For  my  part  I was  exceedingly  glad 
to  see  it  so,  and  began  to  consider  w’hat  punish- 
ment she  would  inflict  upon  them.  I fancied  it  i 
would  be  proper  to  cut  off  Curiosity’s  ears,  and 
fix  them  to  the  eaves  of  the  houses  : to  nail  the 
tongues  of  Talkativeness  to  Indian  tables  ; and 
to  put  out  the  eves  of  Censoriousness  with  a 
flash  of  her  light.  In  respect  of  Credulity,  I 
had  indeed  some  little  pity,  and  had  I been 
judge  she  might,  perhaps,  have  escaped  with  a 
hearty  reproof. 

‘ But  I soon  found  that  the  discerning  judge  ' 
had  other  designs.  She  knew  them  for  such 
as  will  not  be  destroyed  entirely  while  mankind 
is  in  being,  and  yet  ought  to  have  a brand  and 
punishment  affixed  to  them  that  they  may  be 
avoided.  Wherefore  she  took  a seat  for  judg- 
ment, and  had  the  criminals  brought  forward 
by  Shame  ever  blushing,  and  Trouble  with  a 
whip  of  many  lashes  ; two  phantoms  who  had 
dogged  the  procession  in  disguise,  and  waited 
till  they  had  an  authority  from  Truth  to  lay 
hands  upon  them.  Immediately  then  she  or- 
dered Curiosity  and  Talkativeness  to  be  fettered  ‘ 
together,  that  the  one  should  never  suffer  the 
other  to  rest,  nor  the  other  ever  let  her  remain  ' 
undiscovered.  Light  Credulity  she  linked  to  i 
Shame  at  the  tormentor’s  own  request,  who  was 
pleased  to  be  thus  secure  that  her  prisoner  could 
not  escape ; and  this  was  done  partly  for  her 
punishment,  and  partly  for  her  amendment. 


No.  67.] 


TflP:  GUARDIAN. 


no 


i Censoriousness  was  also  in  like  manner  beg-ged 
[ by  Trouble,  and  had  lier  assigned  for  an  eternal 
f companion.  After  they  were  tlius  chained  with 
one  another,  by  the  judge’s  order,  she  drove 
them  from  the  presence  to  wander  for  ever 
through  the  world,  with  Novelty  stalking  before 
them. 

‘ 7’he  cause  being  now  over,  she  retreated 
j from  sight  within  the  splendour  of  her  own 
I glory ; which  leaving  the  house  it  had  bright- 
ened, the  sounds  that  were  proper  to  the  place 
began  to  be  as  loud  and  confused  as  when  we 
entered  ; and  there  being  no  longer  a clear  dis- 
tinguished  appearance  of  any  objects  represent- 
ed to  me,  I returned  from  the  excursion  I had 
j made  in  fancy.’ 


No.  67.]  Thursday^  May  28,  1713. 

ne  forte  pudori 

Sic  tibi  musa  lyrse  solers,  et  cantor  Apollo. 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  40f>. 

Blush  not  to  patronize  the  muse’s  skill. 

It  has  been  remarked,  b}'  curious  observers, 
that  poets  are  generally  long-lived,  and  run  be- 
yond the  usual  age  of  man,  if  not  ctil  off  by  some 
accident  or  excess,  as  Anacreon,  in  the  midst  of 
a very  merry  old  age,  was  choaked  with  a grape- 
stone.  The  same  redundancy  of  spirits  that  pro- 
duces the  poetical  flame,  keeps  up  the  vital 
warmth,  and  administers  uncommon  fuel  to  life. 
I question  not  but  several  instances  will  occur 
to  my  reader’s  memory,  from  Homer  down  to 
Mr.  Dryden.  I shall  only  take  notice  of  two 
who  have  excelled  in  lyrics ; the  one  an  ancient, 
and  the  other  a modern.  The  first  gained  an 
immortal  reputation  by  celebrating  several 
jockeys  in  the  Olympic  games,  the  last  has  sig- 
nalized himself  on  the  same  occasion  by  the  ode 
that  begins  with — ‘ To  horse,  brave  boys,  to 
Newmarket,  to  horse.’  My  reader  will,  by  this 
time,  know  that  tlie  two  poets  I have  mentioned, 
are  Pindar  and  Mr.  d’Urfey.  The  former  of 
these  is  long  since  laid  in  his  urn,  after  having, 
many  years  together,  endeared  himself  to  all 
Greece  by  his  tuneful  compositions.  Our  coun- 
tryman is  still  living,  and  in  a blooming  old  age, 
that  still  promises  many  musical  productions ; 
for  if  I am  not  mistaken,  our  British  swan  will 
sing  to  the  last.  The  best  judges  who  have  pe- 
rused his  last  song  on  The  moderate  Man,  do 
not  discover  any  decay  in  his  parts,  but  think  it 
deserves  a place  amongst  the  finest  of  those 
works  with  which  he  obliged  the  world  in  his 
more  early  years. 

I am  led  into  this  subject  by  a visit  which  I 
lately  received  from  my  good  old  friend  and  con- 
temporary. As  we  both  flourished  together  in 
king  Charles  the  Second’s  reign,  we  diverted 
our.selves  with  the  remembrance  of  several  par- 
ticulars that  passed  in  the  world  before  the  great- 
est part  of  my  readers  were  born,  and  could  not 
but  smile  to  think  how  insensibly  we  were  grown 
into  a couple  of  venerable  old  gentlemen.  Tom 
observed  to  me,  that  after  having  written  more 
odes  than  Horace,  and  about  four  times  as  many 
comedies  as  Terence,  he  was  reduced  to  great 
difficulties  by  the  importunities  of  a set  of  men, 


who,  of  late  years,  had  furnished  him  with  tho 
accommodations  of  lile,  and  would  not,  as  we 
say,  be  paid  with  a song.  In  order  to  extricate 
my  old  friend,  I immediately  sent  for  the  three 
directors  of  the  playhouse,  and  desired  them 
that  they  would  in  their  turn  do  a good  office 
for  a man  who,  in  Shakspeare’s  phrase,  had  often 
filled  their  mouths,  I mean  with  pleasantry,  and 
popular  conceits.  They  very  generously  listened 
to  my  proposal,  and  agreed  to  act  the  Plotting 
Sisters,  (a  very  taking  play  of  my  old  friend’s 
composing)  on  the  fifteenth  of  the  next  month, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  author. 

My  kindness  to  the  agreeable  Mr.  d’Urfey 
will  be  imperfect,  if,  after  having  engaged  the 
players  in  his  favour,  I do  not  get  the  town  to 
come  into  it.  I must  therefore  heartily  recom- 
mend to  all  the  young  ladies,  my  disciples,  the 
case  of  my  old  friend,  who  has  often  made  their 
grandmothers  merry,  and  w’hose  sonnets  have 
perhaps  lulled  asleep  many  a present  toast,  when 
she  lay  in  her  cradle. 

I have  already  prevailed  on  my  lady  Lizard 
to  be  at  the  house  in  one  of  the  front  boxes,  and 
design,  if  I am  in  town,  to  lead  her  in  myself 
at  the  head  of  her  daughters.  The  gentleman 
I am  speaking  of  has  laid  obligations  on  so 
many  of  his  countrymen,  that  I hope  they  will 
think  this  but  a just  return  to  the  good  service 
of  a veteran  poet. 

I myself  remember  king  Charles  the  Second 
leaning  on  Tom  d’Urfey’s  shoulder  more  than 
once,  and  humming  over  a song  with  him.  It 
is  certain  that  monarch  was  not  a little  support- 
ed by  ‘Joy  to  great  Caesar,’  which  gave  the 
whigs  such  a blow  as  they  were  not  able  to  re- 
cover that  whole  reign.  My  friend  afterwards 
attacked  popery  with  the  same  success,  having 
exposed  Bellarmine  and  Porto-Carrero  more 
than  once  in  short  satirical  compositions,  which 
have  been  in  every  body’s  mouth.  He  has  made 
use  of  Italian  tunes  and  sonatas  for  promoting 
the  protestant  interest,  and  turned  a considera- 
ble part  of  the  pope’s  music  against  himself.  In 
short,  he  has  obliged  the  court  with  political 
sonnets,  tho  country  with  dialogues  and  pasto- 
rals, the  city  with  descriptions  of  a lord-majmr’s 
feast,  not  to  mention  his  little  ode  upon  Stool- 
Ball,  with  many  other  of  the  like  nature. 

Should  the  very  individuals  he  has  celebrated 
make  their  appearance  together,  they  would  be 
sufficient  to  fill  the  play-house.  Pretty  Peg  of 
Windsor,  Gillian  of  Croydon,  with  Dolly  and 
Molly,  and  Tommy  and  Johny,  wuth  many 
others  to  be  met  with  in  the  Musical  Miscella- 
nies, entitled,  Pills  to  purge  Melancholy,  would 
make  a good  benefit  night. 

As  my  friend,  after  the  manner  of  the  old 
lyrics,  accompanies  his  works  with  his  own 
voice,  he  has  been  the  delight  of  the  most  polite 
companies  and  conversations,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  king  Charles  the  Second’s  reign  to  our 
present  times.  Many  an  honest  gentleman  has 
got  a reputation  in  his  country,  by  pretending 
to  have  been  in  company  with  Tom  d’Urfey. 

I might  here  mention  several  other  merits  in 
my  friend ; as  his  enriching  our  language  with 
a multitude  of  rhimes,  and  bringing  words  to- 
gether, that  without  his  good  offices,  would  never 
have  been  acquainted  with  one  another,  so  long 


100 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  68. 


as  it  had  been  a tongue.  But  I must  not  omit 
that  my  old  friend  angles  for  a trout,  the  best  of 
any  man  in  England.  May-flies  come  in  late 
this  season,  or  I myself  should  before  now,  have 
had  a trout  of  his  hooking. 

After  what  I have  said,  and  much  more  that 
I might  say,  on  this  subject,  I question  not  but 
the  world  will  think  that  my  old  friend  ought 
not  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  a cage 
like  a singing  bird,  but  enjoy  all  that  pindaric 
liberty  which  is  suitable  to  a man  of  his  genius. 
He  has  made  the  world  merry,  and  I hope  they 
will  make  him  easy,  so  long  as  he  stays  among 
us.  This  I will  take  upon  me  to  say,  they  can- 
not do  a kindness  to  a more  diverting  compa- 
nion, or  a more  cheerful,  honest,  and  good- 
natured  man.  O" 


No.  68.]  Friday,  May  29,  1713. 

Inspicere,  tanquam  in  speculum,  in  vitas  omnium 

Jubeo,  atque  ex  aliis  sumere  exemplum  sibi. 

Ter.  Ailelph.  Act  iii.  Sc.  4. 

My  advice  to  him  is,  to  consult  the  Jives  of  other  men 
as  he  would  a lookins-glass,  and  from  thence  fetch  ex- 
amples for  his  own  imitation. 

The  paper  of  to-day  shall  consist  of  a letter 
from  my  friend  sir  Harry  Lizard,  which,  with 
my  answer,  may  be  worth  the  perusal  of  young 
men  of  estates,  and  young  women  without  for- 
tunes. It  is  absolutely  necessary,  that  in  our 
first  vigorous  years  we  lay  down  some  law  to 
ourselves  for  the  conduct  of  future  life,  whicli 
may  at  least  prevent  essential  misfortunes.  The 
cutting  cares  which  attend  sueh  an  affection  as 
that  against  which  I forewarn  my  friend  sir 
Harry,  are  very  well  known  to  all  who  are  call- 
ed the  men  of  pleasure ; but  when  they  have 
opposed  their  satisfactions  to  their  anxieties  in 
an  impartial  examination,  they  will  find  their 
life  not  only  a dream,  but  a troubled  and  vexa- 
tious one. 

‘ Dear  old  man, — I believe  you  are  very 
much  surprised,  that  in  the  several  letters  I have 
written  to  you,  since  the  receipt  of  that  wherein 
you  recommend  a young  lady  for  a wife  to  your 
humble  servant,  I have  not  made  the  least  men- 
tion of  that  matter.  It  happens  at  this  time  that 
I am  not  much  inclined  to  marry ; there  are 
very  many  matches  in  our  country,  wherein  the 
parties  live  so  insipidly,  or  so  vexatiously,  that 
I am  afraid  to  venture  from  their  example.  Be- 
sides, to  tell  you  the  truth,  good  Nestor,  I am 
informed  your  fine  young  woman  is  soon  to  be 
disposed  of  elsewhere.  As  to  the  young  ladies 
of  my  acquaintance  in  your  great  town,  I do 
not  know  one  whom  I could  think  of  as  a wife, 
who  is  not  either  prepossessed  with  some  inch- 
nation  for  some  other  man,  or  affects  pleasures 
and  entertainments,  which  she  prefers  to  the 
conversation  of  any  man  living.  Women  of  this 
kind  are  the  most  frequently  met  with  of  any 
sort  whatsoever  ; I mean  they  are  the  most  fre- 
quent among  people  of  condition,  that  is  to  say, 
such  are  easily  to  be  had  as  would  sit  at  the 
head  of  your  estate  and  table,  lie-in  by  you  for 
the  sake  of  receiving  visits  in  pomp  at  the  end 
of  the  month,  and  enjoy  the  like  gratifications 


from  the  support  of  your  fortune  ; but  you  your- 
self would  signify  no  more  to  one  of  them,  than 
a name  in  trust  in  a settlement  which  conveys 
land  and  goods,  but  has  no  right  for  its  own  use. 
A woman  of  this  turn  can  no  more  make  a wife, 
than  an  ambitious  man  can  be  a friend  ; they 
both  sacrifice  all  the  true  tastes  of  being,  and 
motives  of  life,  for  the  ostentation,  the  noise, 
and  the  appearance  of  it.  Their  hearts  are 
turned  to  unnatural  objects,  and  as  the  men  of 
design  can  carry  them  on  with  an  exclusion  of 
their  daily  companions,  so  women  of  this  kind 
of  gayety,  can  live  at  bed  and  board  with  a man, 
without  any  affection  to  his  person.  As  to  any 
woman  that  you  examine  hereafter  for  my  sake, 
if  you  can  possibly,  find  a means  to  converse 
with  her  at  some  country  seat.  If  she  has  no 
relish  for  rural  views,  but  is  undelighted  with 
streams,  fields,  and  groves,  I desire  to  hear  no 
more  of  her;  she  has  departed  from  nature,  and 
is  irrecoverably  engaged  in  vanity. 

‘ I have  ever  been  curious  to  observe  the  arro- 
gance of  a town  lady  when  she  first  comes  down 
to  her  husband’s  seat,  and,  beholding  her  coun- 
try neighbours,  wants  somebody  to  laugh  with 
her,  at  the  frightful  things,  to  whom  she  herself 
is  equally  ridiculous.  The  pretty  pitty-pat  step, 
the  playing  head,  and  the  fall-back  in  the  curte- 
sy,  she  does  not  imagine,  make  her  as  uncon- 
versable, and  inaccessible  to  our  plain  people,  as 
the  loud  voice  and  ungainly  stride  render  one 
of  our  huntresses  to  her.  In  a word,  dear  Nes- 
tor,  I beg  you  to  suspend  all  inquiries  towards 
my  matrimony  until  you  hear  further  from,  sir, 
vour  most  obliged,  and  most  humble  servant, 

‘ HARRY  LIZARD.’ 

A certain  loose  turn  in  this  letter,  mixed  in- 
deed with  some  real  exceptions  to  the  too  fre- 
quent silly  choice  made  by  country  gentlemen, 
has  given  me  no  small  anxiety  : and  I have  sent 
sir  Harry  an  account  of  my  suspicions,  as  fol- 
lows. 

‘ To  Sir  Hairy  Lizard. 

‘ Sir, — Your  letter  I have  read  over  two  or 
three  times,  and  must  be  so  free  with  you  as  to 
tell  you,  it  has  in  it  something  which  betrays 
you  have  lost  that  simplicity  of  heart  with  rela- 
tion to  love,  which  I promised  myself  would 
crown  your  days  with  happiness  and  honour. 
The  alteration  of  your  mind  towards  marriage 
is  not  represented  as  flowing  from  discretion 
and  wariness  in  the  choice,  but  a disinclination 
to  that  state  in  general ; you  seem  secretly  to 
propose  to  yourself  (for  I will  think  no  other- 
wise of  a man  of  your  age  and  temper)  all  its 
satisfactions  out  of  it,  and  to  avoid  the  care  and 
inconveniences  that  attend  those  who  enter  into 
it.  I will  not  urge  at  this  time  the  greatest  con- 
sideration of  all,  to  wit,  regard  of  innocence  ; 
but  having,  I think,  in  my  eye,  what  you  aim 
at,  I must,  as  I am  your  friend,  acquaint  you, 
that  you  are  going  into  a wilderness  of  cares 
and  distractions,  from  which  you  will  never  be 
able  to  extricate  yourself,  while  the  compunc- 
tions of  honour  and  pity  are  yet  alive  in  you. 

‘ Without  naming  names,  I have  long  sus- 
pected your  designs  upon  a young  gentlewoman 
in  your  neighbourhood  : but  give  me  leave  to 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


101 


No.  G9.] 

; tell  you  with  all  the  earnestness  of  a faithful 
friend,  that  to  enter  into  a criminal  commerce 
with  a woman  of  merit,  whom  you  find  inno- 
cent, is  of  all  the  follies  of  this  life,  the  most 
fruitful  of  sorrow.  You  must  make  your  ap- 
proaches to  her  with  the  benevolence  and  lan- 
guage of  a good  angel,  in  order  to  bring  upon 
her  pollution  and  shame,  which  is  the  work  of 
' a demon.  The  fashion  of  the  world,  the  warmth 
i of  youth,  and  the  affluence  of  fortune,  may,  per- 
haps, make  you  look  upon  me  in  this  talk,  like 
I a poor  well-meaning  old  man,  who  is  past  those 
I ardencies  in  which  you  at  present  triumph;  but 
believe  me,  sir,  if  you  succeed  in  what  I fear 
you  design,  you  will  find  the  sacrifice  of  beauty 
and  innocence  so  strong  an  obligation  upon  you, 
that  your  whole  life  will  pass  away  in  the  worst 
condition  imaginable,  that  of  doubt  and  irreso- 
lution ; you  will  ever  be  designing  to  leave  her, 
and  never  do  it ; or  else  leave  her  for  another, 
with  a constant  longing  after  her.  He  is  a very 
unhappy  man  who  does  not  reserve  the  most 
pure  and  kind  affections  of  his  heart  for  his 
marriage-bed,  he  will  otherwise  be  reduced  to 
this  melancholy  circumstance,  that  he  gave  his 
mistress  that  kind  of  affection  which  was  pro- 
per for  his  wife,  and  has  not  for  his  wife  either 
that,  or  the  usual  inclination  which  men  bestow 
upon  their  mistresses.  After  such  an  affair  as 
this,  you  are  a very  lucky  man  if  you  find  a 
prudential  marriage  is  only  insipid,  and  not 
actually  miserable ; a woman  of  as  ancient  a 
family  as  your  own,  may  come  into  the  house 
of  the  Lizards,  murmur  in  your  bed,  growl  at 
your  table,  rate  your  servants,  and  insult  your- 
self, while  you  bear  all  this  with  this  unhappy 
reflection  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart,  “ This  is 
all  for  the  injured .”  The  heart  is  ungo- 

vernable enough,  without  being  biassed  by  pre- 
possessions; how  emphatically  unhappy  there- 
fore is  he,  who  besides  the  natural  vagrancy  of 
affection,  has  a passion  to  one  particular  object, 
in  which  he  sees  nothing  but  what  is  lovely, 
except  what  proceeds  from  his  own  guilt  against 
it!  I speak  to  you,  my  dear  friend,  as  one  who 
tenderly  regards  your  welfare,  and  beg  of  you 
to  avoid  this  great  error,  which  has  rendered  so 
many  agreeable  men  unhappy  before  you. — 
When  a man  is  engaged  among  the  dissolute, 
gay,  and  artful  of  the  fair  sex,  a knowledge  of 
their  manners  and  designs,  their  favours  unen- 
deared  by  truth,  their  feigned  sorrows  and  gross 
flatteries,  must  in  time  rescue  a reasonable  man 
from  the  inchantment ; but  in  a case  wherein 
you  have  none  but  yourself  to  accuse,  you  will 
find  the  best  part  of  a generous  mind  torn  away 
with  her,  whenever  you  take  your  leave  of  an 
injured,  deserving  woman.  Come  to  town,  fly 
from  Olinda,  to  your  obedient  humble  servant, 
‘NESTOR  IRONSIDE.’ 


No.  69.]  Saturday,  May  30,  1713. 

Jupiter  est  quodcunque  vides Lucan. 

Where’er  you  turn  your  eyes,  ’tis  God  you  see. 

I HAD  this  morning  a very  valuable  and  kind 
present  sent  me  of  a translated  work  of  a most 
excellent  foreign  writer,  who  makes  a very  con- 


siderable figure  in  the  learned  and  Christian 
world.  It  is  entitled,  A Demonstration  of  the 
Existence,  Wisdom,  and  Omnipotence  of  God, 
drawn  from  the  knowledge  of  nature,  particu- 
larly of  man,  and  fitted  to  the  meanest  capacity, 
by  the  archbishop  of  Cambray,  author  of  Tele- 
machus,  and  translated  from  the  French  by  the 
same  hand  that  englished  that  excellent  piece. 
This  great  author,  in  the  writings  which  he  has 
before  produced,  has  manifested  a heart  full  of 
virtuous  sentiments,  great  benevolence  to  man- 
kind, as  well  as  a sincere  and  fervent  piety  to- 
wards his  Creator.  His  talents  and  parts  are  a. 
very  great  good  to  the  world,  and  it  is  a pleas- 
ing thing  to  behold  the  polite  arts  subservient 
to  religion,  and  recommending  it  from  its  natu- 
ral beauty.  Looking  over  the  letters  of  my  cor- 
respondents, I find  one  which  celebrates  this 
treatise,  and  recommends  it  to  my  readers. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — I think  I have  somewhere  read,  in 
the  writings  of  one  whom  I take  to  be  a friend 
of  yours,  a saying  which  struck  me  very  much, 
and  as  I remember,  it  was  to  this  purpose: 
“ The  existence  of  a God  is  so  far  from  being  a 
thing  that  wants  to  be  proved,  that  I think  it  is 
the  only  thing  of  which  we  arc  certain.”  This 
is  a sprightly  and  just  expression;  however,  I 
dare  say,  you  will  not  be  displeased  that  I put 
you  in  mind  of  saying  something  on  the  De- 
monstration of  the  bishop  of  Cambray.  A man 
of  his  talents  views  all  things  in  a light  differ- 
ent from  that  in  which  ordinary  men  see  them, 
and  the  devout  disposition  of  his  soul  turns  all 
those  talents  to  the  improvement  of  the  plea- 
sures of  a good  life.  His  style  clothes  philoso- 
phy in  a dress  almost  poetic;  and  his  readers 
enjoy  in  full  perfection  the  advantage,  while 
they  are  reading  him,  of  being  what  he  is.  The 
pleasing  representation  of  the  animal  powers  in 
the  beginning  of  his  work,  and  his  considera- 
tion of  the  nature  of  man  with  the  addition  of 
reason  in  the  subsequent  discourse,  impresses 
upon  the  mind  a strong  satisfaction  in  itself, 
and  gratitude  towards  Him  who  bestowed  that 
superiority  over  the  brute- world.  These  thoughts 
had  such  an  effect  upon  the  author  himself,  that 
he  has  ended  his  discourse  with  a prayer.  This 
adoration  has  a sublimity  in  it  befitting  his  cha- 
racter, and  the  emotions  of  his  heart  flow  from 
wisdom  and  knowledge.  I thought  it  would  be 
proper  for  a Saturday’s  paper,  and  have  trans- 
lated it  to  make  you  a present  of  it.  I have 
not,  as  the  translator  was  obliged  to  do,  confined 
myself  to  an  exact  version  from  the  original, 
but  have  endeavoured  to  express  the  spirit  of  it, 
by  taking  the  liberty  to  render  his  thoughts  in 
such  a way  as  I should  have  uttered  them  if 
they  had  been  my  own.  It  has  been  observed, 
that  the  private  letters  of  great  men  are  the 
best  pictures  of  their  souls ; but  certainly  their 
private  devotions  would  be  still  more  instruc- 
tive, and  I know  not  why  they  should  not  be  as 
curious  and  entertaining. 

‘ If  you  insert  this  prayer,  I know  not  but  I 
may  send  you,  for  another  occasion,  one  used 
by  a very  great  wit  of  the  last  age,  which  has 
allusions  to  the  errors  of  a vory  wild  life ; and, 
9 


102 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  70. 


I believe  you  will  think  is  written  with  an  un- 
common spirit.  The  person  whom  I mean  was 
an  excellent  writer,  and  the  publication  of  this 
prayer  of  his  may  be,  perliaps,  some  kind  of 
antidote  against  the  infection  in  his  other  writ- 
ings. But  this  supplication  of  the  bishop  has 
in  it  a more  happy  and  untroubled  spirit;  it  is 
(if  that  is  not  saying  something  too  fond)  the 
worship  of  an  angel  concerned  for  those  who 
had  fallen,  but  himself  still  in  the  state  of  glory 
and  innocence.  The  book  ends  with  an  act  of 
devotion,  to  this  effect. 

“ O my  God,  if  the  greater  number  of  man- 
kind  do  not  discover  thee  in  that  glorious  show 
of  nature  which  thou  hast  placed  before  our 
eyes,  it  is  not  because  thou  art  far  from  every 
one  of  us.  Thou  art  present  to  us  more  than 
any  object  which  we  touch^with  our  hands;  but 
our  senses,  and  the  passions  which  they  pro- 
duce in  us,  turn  our  attention  from  thee.  Thy 
light  shines  in  the  midst  of  darkness,  but  the 
darkness  comprehends  it  not.  Thou,  O Lord, 
dost  every  way  display  thyself.  Thou  shinest 
in  all  thy  works,  but  art  not  regarded  by  heed- 
less and  unthinking  man.  The  whole  creation 
talks  aloud  of  thee,  and  echoes  with  the  repeti- 
tions of  thy  holy  name.  But  such  is  our  insen- 
sibility, that  we  are  deaf  to  the  great  and  uni- 
versal voice  of  nature.  Thou  art  every  where 
about  us,  and  within  us ; but  we  wander  from 
ourselves,  become  strangers  to  our  own  souls, 
and  do  not  apprehend  thy  presence.  O thou, 
who  art  the  eternal  fountain  of  light  and  beauty, 
who  art  the  ancient  of  days,  without  beginning 
and  without  end ; O thou,  who  art  the  life  of  all 
that  truly  live,  those  can  never  fail  to  find  thee, 
who  seek  for  thee  within  themselves.  But  alas! 
the  very  gifts  which  thou  bestowest  upon  us  do 
so  employ  our  thoughts,  that  they  hinder  us 
from  perceiving  the  hand  which  conveys  them 
to  us.  We  live  by  thee,  and  yet  we  live  without 
thinking  on  thee ; but,  O Lord,  what  is  life  in 
the  ignorance  of  thee!  A dead  unactive  piece 
of  matter ; a flower  that  withers ; a river  that 
glides  away  ; a palace  that  hastens  to  its  ruin  ; 
a picture  made  up  of  fading  colours;  a mass  of 
shining  ore:  strike  our  imaginations,  and  make 
us  sensible  of  their  existence.  We  regard  them 
as  objects  capable  of  giving  us  pleasure,  not 
considering  that  thou  conveyest,  through  them, 
all  the  pleasure  which  we  imagine  they  give  us. 
Such  vain  empty  objects  that  are  only  the  sha- 
dows of  being,  are  proportioned  to  our  low  and 
groveling  thoughts.  That  beauty  which  thou 
hast  poured  out  on  thy  creation,  is  as  a veil 
which  hides  thee  from  our  eyes.  As  thou  art  a 
being  too  pure  and  exalted  to  pass  through  our 
senses,  thou  art  not  regarded  by  men,  who  have 
debased  their  nature,  and  have  made  themselves 
like  the  beasts  that  perish.  So  infatuated  are 
they,  that  notwithstanding  they  know  what  is 
wisdom  and  virtue,  which  have  neither  sound, 
nor  colour,  nor  cmell,  nor  taste,  nor  figure,  nor 
any  other  sensible  quality,  they  can  doubt  of 
thy  existence,  because  thou  art  not  apprehended 
by  the  grosser  organs  of  sense.  Wretches  that 
we  are  I we  consider  shadows  as  realities,  and 
truth  as  a phantom.  That  which  is  nothing,  is 
all  to  us ; and  that  which  is  all,  appears  to  us 
nothing.  What  do  we  see  in  all  nature  but 


thee,  O my  God ! Thou  and  only  thou,  appear- 
est  in  every  thing.  When  I consider  thee,  O 
Lord,  I am  swallowed  up,  and  lost  in  contem- 
plation of  thee.  Every  thing  besides  thee,  even 
my  own  existence,  vanishes  and  disappears  in 
the  contemplation  of  thee.  I am  lost  to  myself, 
and  fall  into  nothing,  when  I think  on  thee. 
The  man  who  does  not  see  thee,  has  beheld  no- 
thing ; he  who  does  not  taste  thee,  has  a relish 
of  nothing ; his  being  is  vain,  and  his  life  but  a 
dream.  Set  up  thyself,  O Lord,  set  up  thyself, 
that  we  may  behold  thee.  As  wax  consumes 
before  the  fire,  and  as  the  smoke  is  driven  aw^ay, 
so  let  thine  enemies  vanish  out  of  thy  presence. 
How  unhappy  is  that  soul  who,  without  the 
sense  of  thee,  has  no  God,  no  hope,  no  comfort 
to  support  him  ! But  how  happy  the  man  who 
searches,  sighs,  and  thirsts  after  thee!  But  he 
only  is  fully  happy,  on  whom  thou  liftest  up  the 
light  of  thy  countenance,  whose  tears  thou  hast 
wiped  away,  and  who  enjoys  in  thy  loving-kind- 
ness the  completion  of  all  his  desires.  How 
long,  how  long,  O Lord,  shall  I W'ait  for  that 
day  when  I sliall  possess,  in  thy  presence,  full- 
ness of  joy  and  pleasures  for  evermore  ? O my 
God,  in  this  pleasing  hope,  my  bones  rejoice 
and  cry  out.  Who  is  like  unto  thee ! My  heart 
melts  awa}q  and  my  soul  faints  within  me  when 
I look  up  to  Thee,  who  art  the  God  of  my  life, 
and  my  portion  to  all  eternity.” 


No.  70.]  Monday,  June  1,  1713. 

mentisque  capacius  alts. 

Ovid.  Mel.  Lib.  i.  76. 

Of  thoughts  enlarged  and  more  exalted  mind. 

As  I was  the  other  day  taking  a solitary  w'alk 
in  St.  Paul’s,  I indulged  my  thoughts  in  the 
pursuit  of  a certain  analogy  between  that  fabric 
and  the  Christian  church  in  the  largest  sense. 
The  divine  order  and  economy  of  the  one 
seemed  to  be  emblematically  set  forth  by  the 
just,  plain,  and  majestic  architecture  of  the 
other.  And  as  the  one  consists  of  a great  va- 
riety of  parts  united  in  the  same  regular  design, 
according  to  the  truest  art,  and  most  exact  pro- 
portion ; so  the  other  contains  a decent  subordi- 
nation of  members,  various  sacred  institutions, 
sublime  doctrines,  and  solid  precepts  of  morality 
digested  into  the  same  design,  and  W’ith  an  ad- 
mirable concurrence  tending  to  one  view,  the 
happiness  and  exaltation  of  human  nature. 

In  the  midst  of  my  contemplation,  I beheld  a 
fly  upon  one  of  the  pillars;  and  it  straightway 
came  into  my  head,  that  this  same  fly  was  a 
free-thinker.  For  it  required  some  comprehen- 
sion in  the  eye  of  the  spectator,  to  take  in  at  one 
view  the  various  parts  of  the  building,  in  order 
to  observe  their  symmetry  and  design.  But  to 
the  fly,  whose  prospeet  was  confined  to  a little 
part  of  one  of  the  stones  of  a single  pillar,  the 
joint  beauty  of  the  whole,  or  the  distinct  use  of 
its  parts,  were  inconspicuous,  and  nothing  could 
appear  but  small  inequalities  in  the  surface  of 
the  hewn  stone,  which  in  the  view  of  that  in- 
sect seemed  so  many  deformed  rocks  and  preci- 
pices. 


No.  70.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


103 


The  thoughts  of  a free-thinker  are  employed 
on  certain  minute  particularities  of  religion, 
the  difficulty  of  a single  text,  or  tlie  unaccount- 
ablencss  of  some  step  of  Providence  or  point 
of  doctrine  to  his  narrow  faculties,  without  com- 
prehending  the  scope  and  design  of  Christianity, 
the  perfection  to  which  it  raiscth  human  nature, 
the  light  it  hath  shed  abroad  in  tlie  world,  and 
the  close  connexion  it  hath  as  well  with  the 
good  of  public  societies,  as  with  that  of  particu- 
lar persons. 

This  raised  in  me  some  reflections  on  that 
frame  or  disposition  wffiich  is  called  ‘ largeness 
of  mind,’  its  necessity  towards  forming  a true 
judgment  of  things,  and  where  the  soul  is  not 
incurably  stinted  by  nature,  what  are  tiic  like- 
liest methods  to  give  it  enlargement. 

It  is  evident  that  philosophy  doth  open  and 
enlarge  the  mind,  by  the  general  views  to  which 
men  are  habituated  in  that  study,  and  by  the 
contemplation  of  more  numerous  and  distant 
objects,  than  fall  within  the  sphere  of  mankind 
in  the  ordinary  pursuits  of  life.  Hence  it  comes 
to  pass,  that  philosophers  judge  of  most  things 
very  differently  from  the  vulgar.  Some  in- 
stances of  this  may  be  seen  in  the  Thetetetus  of 
Plato,  where  Socrates  makes  the  following  re- 
marks, among  others  of  the  like  nature. 

‘ When  a philosopher  hears  ten  thousand  acres 
mentioned  as  a great  estate,  he  looks  upon  it  as 
an  inconsiderable  spot,  having  been  used  to 
contemplate  the  whole  globe  of  earth.  Or  when 
he  beholds  a man  elated  with  the  nobility  of 
his  race,  because  he  can  reckon  a series  of  seven 
rich  ancestors;  the  philosopher  thinks  him  a 
stupid  ignorant  fellow,  whose  mind  cannot 
reach  to  a general  view  of  human  nature,  which 
would  show  him  that  we  have  all  innumerable 
ancestors,  among  whom  are  crowds  of  rich  and 
poor,  kings  and  slaves,  Greeks  and  barbarians.’ 
Thus  far  Socrates,  who  was  accounted  wiser 
than  the  rest  of  the  heathens,  for  notions  which 
approach  the  nearest  to  Christianity. 

As  all  parts  and  branches  of  philosophy,  or 
speculative  knowledge,  are  useful  in  that  re- 
spect, astronomy  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  reme- 
dy a little  and  narrow  spirit.  In  that  science 
there  are  good  reasons  assigned  to  prove  the  sun 
a hundred  thousand  times  bigger  than  our  earth, 
and  the  distance  of  the  stars  so  prodigious,  that 
a cannon-bullet  continuing  in  its  ordinary  rapid 
motion,  would  not  arrive  from  hence  at  the 
nearest  of  them  in  the  space  of  a hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  years.  These  ideas  wonderfully 
dilate  and  expand  the  mind.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  immensity  of  this  distance  that 
shocks  and  overwhelms  the  imagination;  it  is 
too  big  for  the  grasp  of  a human  intellect ; 
estates,  provinces,  and  kingdoms,  vanish  at  its 
presence.  It  were  to  be  wished  a certain  prince,* 
who  hath  encouraged  the  study  of  it  in  his  sub- 
jects, had  been  himself  a proficient  in  astrono- 
my. This  might  have  showed  him  how  mean 
an  ambition  that  was,  wliich  terminated  in  a 
small  part  of  what  is  itself  but  a point,  in  re- 
spect to  that  part  of  the  universe  which  lies 
within  our  view. 

But  the  Christian  religion  ennobleth  and  en- 


largeth  the  mind  beyond  any  other  profession 
or  science  whatsoever.  Upon  tliat  scheme,  while 
the  earth,  and  the  transient  enjoyments  of  this 
life,  shrink  into  the  narrowest  dimensions,  and 
are  accounted  as  ‘ the  dust  of  a balance,  the 
drop  of  a bucket,  yea,  less  than  nothing,’  the 
intellectual  world  opens  wider  to  our  view.  The 
perfections  of  the  Deity,  the  nature  and  excel- 
lence of  virtue,  the  dignity  of  the  human  soul, 
are  displayed  in  the  largest  characters.  The 
mind  of  man  seems  to  adapt  itself  to  the  dif- 
ferent nature  of  its  objects  ; it  is  contracted 
and  debased  by  being  conversant  in  little  and 
low  things,  and  feels  a proportionable  enlarge- 
ment arising  from  the  contemplation  of  these 
great  and  sublime  ideas. 

The  greatness  of  things  is  comparative ; and 
this  does  not  only  hold  in  respect  of  extension 
but  likewise  in  respect  of  dignity,  duration,  and 
all  kinds  of  perfection.  Astronomy  opens  the 
mind,  and  alters  our  judgment,  with  regard  to 
the  magnitude  of  extended  beings ; but  Chris- 
tianity produceth  a universal  greatness  of  soul. 
Philosophy  increaseth  our  views  in  every  re- 
spect, but  Christianity  extends  them  to  a degree 
beyond  the  light  of  nature. 

How  mean  must  the  most  exalted  potentate 
upon  earth  appear  to  that  eye  which  takes  in 
innumerable  orders  of  blessed  spirits,  differing 
in  glory  and  perfection  ! How  little  must  the 
amusements  of  sense,  and  the  ordinary  occu- 
pations of  mortal  men,  seem  to  one  who  is  en- 
gaged in  so  noble  a pursuit,  as  the  assimilation 
of  himself  to  the  Deity,  which  is  the  proper 
employment  of  every  Christian  ! 

And  the  improvement  which  grows  from  ha- 
bituating the  mind  to  the  comprehensive  views 
of  religion  must  not  be  thought  wholly  to  re- 
gard the  understanding.  Nothing  is  of  greater 
force  to  subdue  the  inordinate  motions  of  the 
heart,  and  to  regulate  the  will.  Whether  a 
man  be  actuated  by  his  passions  or  his  reason, 
these  are  first  wrought  upon  by  some  object, 
which  stirs  the  soul  in  proportion  to  its  appa- 
rent dimensions.  Hence  irreligious  men,  whose 
short  prospects  are  filled  with  earth  and  sense, 
and  mortal  life,  are  invited  by  these  mean  ideas 
to  actions  proportionably  little  and  low.  But  a 
mind,  whose  views  are  enlightened  and  extended 
by  religion,  is  animated  to  nobler  pursuits  by 
more  sublime  and  remote  objects. 

There  is  not  any  instance  of  weakness  in 
the  free-thinkers  that  raises  my  indignation 
more,  than  their  pretending  to  ridicule  Chris- 
tians, as  men  of  narrow  understandings,  and  to 
pass  themselves  upon  the  world  for  persons  of 
superior  sense,  and  more  enlarged  views.  But 
I leave  it  to  any  impartial  man  to  judge  which 
hath  the  nobler  sentiments,  which  the  greater 
views ; he  whose  notions  are  stinted  to  a few 
miserable  inlets  of  sense,  or  he  whose  senti- 
ments are  raised  above  the  common  taste,  by 
the  anticipation  of  those  delights  which  will 
satiate  the  soul,  when  the  whole  capacity  of  her 
nature  is  branched  out  into  new  faculties  ? He 
who  looks  for  nothing  beyond  this  short  span 
of  duration,  or  he  whose  aims  are  co-exteaded 
with  the  endless  length  of  eternity  ? He  who 
derives  his  spirit  from  the  elements,  or  he  who 
thinks  it  was  inspired  by  the  Almighty  ? 


* Lewis  XIV. 


104 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  71. 


No.  71.]  Tuesday^  June  2,  1713. 

Q.uale  portentum  neque  militaris 
Daunia  in  latis  alit  esculetis: 

Nec  Jubae  telliis  general,  leonum 
Arida  nutrix. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Od.  xxii.  13, 

No  beast,  of  more  potentous  size, 

In  the  Hercinian  forest  lies  ; 

Nor  fiercer  in  Numidia  bred, 

With  Carthage  were  in  triumph  led. 

Roscommon. 

I QUESTION  not  but  my  country  customers  will 
be  surprised  to  hear  me  complain  that  this  town 
is,  of  late  years,  very  much  infested  with  lions  ; 
and  will  perhaps,  look  upon  it  as  a strange 
piece  of  news  when  I assure  them  that  there 
are  many  of  these  beasts  of  prey,  who  walk  our 
streets  in  broad  day-light,  beating  about  from 
coffee-house  to  coffee-house,  and  seeking  whom 
they  may  devour. 

To  unriddle  this  paradox,  I must  acquaint 
my  rural  reader  that  we  polite  men  of  the  town 
give  the  name  of  a lion  to  any  one  that  is  a 
great  man’s  spy.  And  whereas  I cannot  dis- 
charge my  office  of  Guardian  without  setting  a 
mark  on  such  a noxious  animal,  and  cautioning 
my  wards  against  him,  I design  this  whole 
paper  as  an  essay  upon  the  political  lion. 

It  has  cost  me  a great  deal  of  time  to  dis- 
cover the  reason  of  this  appellation,  but  after 
many  disquisitions  and  conjectures  on  so  obscure 
a subject,  I find  there  are  two  accounts  of  it 
more  satisfactory  than  the  rest.  In  the  republic 
of  Venice,  which  has  been  always  the  mother 
of  politics,  there  are  near  the  doge’s  palace 
several  large  figures  of  lions  curiously  wrought 
in  marble,  with  mouths  gaping  in  a most  enor- 
mous manner.  Those  who  have  a mind  to  give 
the  state  any  private  intelligence  of  what  passes 
in  the  city,  put  their  hands  into  the  mouth  of 
one  of  these  lions,  and  convey  into  it  a paper  of 
such  private  informb-tions  as  any  way  regard 
the  interest  or  safety  of  the  commonwealth. 
By  this  means  all  the  secrets  of  state  come  out 
of  the  lion’s  mouth.  The  informer  is  concealed ; 
it  is  the  lion  that  tells  every  thing.  In  short, 
tiiere  is  not  a mismanagement  in  office,  or  a 
murmur  in  conversation,  which  the  lion  does 
not  acquaint  the  government  with.  For  this 
reason,  say  the  learned,  a spy  is  very  properly 
distinguished  by  the  name  of  lion. 

I must  confess  this  etymology  is  plausible 
enough,  and  I did  for  some  time  acquiesce  in  it, 
till  about  a year  or  two  ago  I met  with  a little 
manuscript  which  sets  this  whole  matter  in  a 
clear  light.  In  the  reign  of  queen  Elizabeth, 
says  rny  author,  the  renowned  Walsingham 
had  many  spies  in  his  service,  from  whom  the 
government  received  great  advantage.  The 
most  eminent  among  them  was  the  statesman’s 
barber,  whose  surname  was  Lion.  This  fellow 
had  an  admirable  knack  of  fishing  out  the 
secrets  of  his  customers,  as  tliey  were  under 
his  hands.  He  would  rub  and  lather  a man’s 
head,  till  he  had  got  out  every  thing  that  was 
in  it.  He  had  a certain  snap  in  his  fingers  and 
a volubility  in  his  tongue,  that  would  engage  a 
man  to  talk  with  him  whether  he  would  or  no. 
By  this  means  he  became  an  inexhaustible  fund 
of  private  intelligence,  and  so  signalized  him- 


I 

self  in  the  capacity  of  a spy,  that  from  his 
time  a master-spy  goes  under  the  name  of  a 
lion. 

Walsingham  had  a most  excellent  penetra*  i 
tion,  and  never  attempted  to  turn  any  man  into  1 
a lion  whom  he  did  not  see  highly  qualified 
for  it  when  he  was  in  his  human  condition.  ) 

Indeed  the  speculative  men  of  those  times  say  i 

of  him,  that  he  would  now  and  then  play  them  i 

off,  and  expose  them  a little  unmercifully;  but  i 
that,  in  my  opinion,  seems  only  good  policy,  for  i 
otherwise  they  might  set  up  for  men  again, 
when  they  thought  fit,  and  desert  his  service. 

But  however,  though  in  that  very  corrupt  age 
he  made  use  of  these  animals,  he  had  a great  es- 
teem for  true  men,  and  always  exerted  the  i 

highest  generosity  in  offering  them  more,  with-  i 

out  asking  terms  of  them,  and  doing  more  for  i 
them  out  of  mere  respect  for  their  talents, 
though  against  him,  than  they  could  expect  I 
from  any  other  minister  whom  they  had  served  i; 
never  so  conspicuously.  This  made  Raleigh  c 
(who  profest  himself  his  opponent)  say  one  day  y 
to  a friend,  ‘ Pox  take  this  Walsingham,  he  3 

baffles  every  body ; he  won’t  so  much  as  let  a i 

man  hate  him  in  private.’  True  it  is,  that  by  y 
the  wanderings,  roarings,  and  lurkings  of  his  i: 
lions,  he  knew  the  way  to  every  man  breathing, 
who  had  not  a contempt  for  the  world  itself.  He  j 
had  lions  rampant  whom  he  used  for  the  service  j 
of  the  church,  and  couchant  who  were  to  lie  ) 

down  for  the  queen.  They  were  so  much  at  i 

command,  that  the  couchant  would  act  as  the  t 

rampant,  and  the  rampant  as  couchant,  without  k 
being  the  least  out  of  countenance,  and  all  this  if 
within  four-and-twenty  hours.  Walsingham  t 
had  the  pleasantest  life  in  the  world  ; for,  by  | 
the  force  of  his  power  and  intelligence,  he  • 
saw  men  as  they  really  were,  and  not  as  the  i 
world  thought  of  them  : all  this  was  principally  i 
brought  about  by  feeding  his  lions  well,  or  keep-  ^ 
ing  them  hungry,  according  to  their  different  ^ 
constitutions.  ^ 

Having  given  this  short,  but  necessary  ac-  f 
count  of  this  statesman  and  his  barber,  who,  j 
like  the  taylor  in  Shakspeare’s  Pyramus  and  i 
Thysby,  was  a man  made  as  other  men  are,  4 
notwithstanding  he  was  a nominal  lion,  I shall  .1 
proceed  to  the  description  of  this  strange  species  | 
of  creatures.  Ever  since  the  wise  Walsingham  f 
was  secretary  in  this  nation,  our  statesmen  are  * 
said  to  have  encouraged  the  breed  among  us,  as  » 
very  well  knowing  that  a lion  in  our  British  I 

arms  is  one  of  the  supporters  of  the  crown,  and  3 

that  it  is  impossible  for  a government,  in  which 
there  are  such  a variety  of  factions  and  in-  ' 
trigues,  to  subsist  without  this  necessary  animal. 

A lion,  or  master-spy,  hath  several  jackalls 
under  him,  who  are  his  retailers  in  intelligence, 
and  bring  him  in  materials  for  his  report;  his  < 
chief  haunt  is  a coffee-house,  and  as  his  voice  i 
is  exceeding  strong,  it  aggravates  the  sound  of  I 
every  thing  it  repeats.  ; 

As  the  lion  generally  thirsts  affer  blood,  and  i 
is  of  a fierce  and  cruel  nature,  there  are  no  se-  | 
crets  which  he  hunts  after  with  more  delight,  | 
than  those  that  cut  off  heads,  hang,  draw,  and  i 
quarter,  or  end  in  the  ruin  of  the  person  who  I 
becomes  his  prev.  If  he  gets  the  wind  of  any 
word  or  action,  that  may  do  a man  good,  it  is 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


105 


No.  72.] 

not  for  his  purpose,  he  quits  the  chace  and  falls 
! into  a more  agreeable  scent. 

’ He  discovers  a wonderful  sagacity  in  seeking 
} after  his  prey.  He  couches  and  frisks  about  in 
a thousand  sportful  motions  to  draw  it  within 
his  reach,  and  has  a particular  way  of  imitating 
the  sound  of  the  creature  whom  he  would  en- 
' snare ; an  artifice  to  be  met  with  in  no  beast 
of  prey,  except  the  hyaena  and  the  political  lion. 

You  seldom  see  a cluster  of  newsmongers 
without  a lion  in  the  midst  of  them.  He  never 
t misses  taking  his  stand  within  ear-shot  of  one 
1 of  those  little  ambitious  men,  who  set  up  for 

1 orators  in  places  of  public  resort.  If  there  is  a 
I whispering-hole,  or  any  public-spirited  corner 
^ in  a coffee-house,  you  never  fail  of  seeing  a lion 
t j couched  upon  his  elbow  in  some  part  of  the 
I j neighbourhood. 

j A lion  is  particularly  addicted  to  the  perusal 
I ' of  every  loose  paper  that  lies  in  his  way.  He 
appears  more  than  ordinary  attentive  to  what 
It  he  reads,  while  he  listens  to  those  who  are  about 
1 him.  He  takes  up  the  Post-man,  and  snuffs 
j the  candle,  that  he  may  hear  the  better  by  it.  I 
I have  seen  a lion  pore  upon  a single  paragraph 

I in  an  old  gazette  for  two  hours  together,  if  his 

I I neighbours  have  been  talking  all  that  while. 

Having  given  a full  description  of  this  mon- 

I , ster,  for  the  benefit  of  such  innocent  persons  as 

I I may  fall  into  his  walks,  I shall  apply  a word  or 
1 1 two  to  the  lion  himself,  whom  I would  desire  to 
► consider  that  he  is  a creature  hated  both  by  God 
/ and  man,  and  regarded  with  the  utmost  con- 
I i tempt  even  by  such  as  make  use  of  him.  Hang- 

imen  and  executioners  are  necessary  in  a state, 
and  so  may  the  animal  I have  been  here  men- 
tioning; but  how  despicable  is  the  wretch  that 
takes  on  him  so  vile  an  employment  ? There 
is  scarce  a being  that  would  not  suffer  by  a 
ri  comparison  with  him,  except  that  being  only 
^ who  acts  the  same  kind  of  part,  and  is  both  the 
l|  temper  and  accuser  of  mankind. 

N.  B.  Mr.  Ironside  has,  within  five  weeks 
II  last  past,  muzzled  three  lions,  gorged  five,  and 
^ killed  one.  On  Monday  next  the  skin  of  the 
1 dead  one  will  be  hung  up  in  terrorem,  at  But- 
J ton’s  coffee-house,  over  against  Tom’s,  in  Co- 
il vent-Garden. 

f No.  72.]  Wednesdaj/,  June  3,  1713. 

In  vitium  libertas  excidit,  et  vim 

Dignam  lege  regi.  Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  282, 

Its  liberty  w’as  turned  to  rage  ; 

Such  rage  as  civil  pow’r  was  forced  to  tame. 

Creech. 

Oxford  is  a place  which  I am  more  inquisi- 
tive about  than  even  that  of  my  nativity  ; and 
I when  I have  an  account  of  any  sprightly  saying, 
j or  rising  genius  from  thence,  it  brings  my  own 
' youthful  days  into  my  mind,  and  throws  me 
j forty  years  back  into  life.  It  is  for  this  reason, 
j that  I have  thought  myself  a little  neglected  of 
I late  by  Jack  Lizard,  from  whom  I used  to  hear 
I at  least  once  a week.  The  last  post  brought 
' me  his  excuse,  which  is,  that  he  hath  been 
I wholly  taken  up  in  preparing  some  exercises 
: for  the  theatre.  He  tells  me  likewise,  that  the 

1 O 


talk  there  is  about  a public  act,  and  that  the 
gay  part  of  the  university  have  great  expecta- 
tion of  a Terrse-filius,  who  is  to  lash  and  sting 
all  the  world  in  a satyrical  speech.  Against  the 
great  licence  which  hath  heretofore  been  taken 
in  these  libels,  he  expresses  himself  with  such 
humanity,  as  is  very  unusual  in  a young  per- 
son, and  ought  to  be  cherished  and  admired. 
For  my  own  part,  I so  far  agree  with  him,  that 
if  the  university  permits  a tiling,  which  I think 
much  better  let  alone  ; I hope  those,  whose  duty 
it  is  to  appoint  a proper  person  for  that  office, 
will  take  care  that  he  utter  nothing  unbecoming 
a gentleman,  a scholar,  and  a Christian.  More- 
over, I would  have  them  consider  that  their 
learned  body  hath  already  enemies  enough,  who 
are  prepared  to  aggravate  all  irreverent  insinu- 
ations, and  to  interpret  all  oblique  indecencies, 
who  will  triumph  in  such  a victory,  and  bid  the 
university  thank  herself  for  the  consequences. 

In  my  time  I remember  the  Terrae-filius 
contented  himself  with  being  bitter  upon  the 
pope,  or  chastising  the  Turk  ; and  raised  a se- 
rious and  manly  mirth,  and  adapted  to  the 
dignity  of  his  auditory,  by  exposing  the  false 
reasoning  of  the  heretic,  or  ridiculing  the  clum- 
sy pretenders  to  genius  and  politeness.  In  the 
jovial  reign  of  king  Charles  the  Second,  wherein 
never  did  more  wit  or  more  ribaldry  abound, 
the  fashion  of  being  arch  upon  all  that  was 
grave,  and  waggish  upon  the  ladies,  crept  into 
our  seats  of  learning  upon  these  occasions.  This 
was  managed  grossly  and  awkwardly  enough, 
in  a place  where  the  general  plainness  and  sim- 
plicity  of  manners  could  ill  bear  the  mention 
of  such  crimes,  as  in  courts  and  great  cities  are 
called  by  the  specious  names  of  air  and  gallant- 
ry. It  is  to  me  amazing,  that  ever  any  man, 
bred  up  in  the  knowledge  of  virtue  and  huma- 
nity, should  so  far  cast  off  all  shame  and  tender- 
ness, as  to  stand  up  in  the  face  of  thousands, 
and  utter  such  contumelies  as  I have  read 
and  heard  of.  Let  such  a one  know  that  he  is 
making  fools  merry,  and  wise  men  sick ; and 
that,  in  the  eye  of  considering  persons,  he  hath 
less  compunction  than  the  common  hangman, 
and  less  shame  than  a prostitute. 

Infamy  is  so  cutting  an  evil,  that  most  per- 
sons who  have  any  elevation  of  soul,  think  it 
worse  than  death.  Those  who  have  it  not  in 
their  power  to  revenge  it,  often  pine  away  in 
anguish,  and  loath  their  being;  and  those  who 
have,  enjoy  no  rest  till  they  have  vengeance.  I 
shall  therefore  make  it  the  business  of  this  pa- 
per to  show  how  base  and  ungenerous  it  is  to 
traduce  the  women,  and  how  dangerous  to  ex- 
pose men  of  learning  and  character,  who  have 
generally  been  the  subjects  of  these  invectives. 

It  hath  been  often  said,  ihat  women  seem 
formed  to  soften  the  boisterous  passions,  and 
sooth  the  cares  and  anxieties  to  which  men  are 
exposed  in  the  many  perplexities  of  life.  That 
having  weaker  bodies,  and  less  strength  of 
mind  than  man,  nature  hath  poured  out  her 
charms  upon  them,  and  given  them  such  ten- 
derness of  heart,  that  the  most  delicate  delight 
we  receive  from  them  is,  in  thinking  them  en- 
tirely ours,  and  under  our  protection.  Accord- 
ingly we  find,  that  all  nations  have  paid  a decent 
homage  to  this  weaker  and  lovelier  part  of  the 


106 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  73. 


rational  creation,  in  proportion  to  their  removal 
from  savageness  and  barbarism.  Chastity  and 
truth  are  the  only  due  returns  that  they  can 
make  for  this  generous  disposition  in  the  nobler' 
sex.  For  beauty  is  so  far  from  satisfying  us  of 
itself,  that  whenever  we  think  that  it  is  com- 
municated to  others,  we  behold  it  with  regret 
and  disdain.  Whoever  therefore  robs  a woman 
of  her  reputation,  despoils  a poor  defenceless 
creature  of  all  that  makes  her  valuable,  turns 
her  beauty  into  loathsomeness,  and  leaves  her 
friendless,  abandoned,  and  undone.  There  are 
many  tempers  so  soft  that  the  least  calumny 
gives  them  pains  they  are  not  able  to  bear. 
They  give  themselves  up  to  strange  fears, 
gloomy  reflections,  and  deep  melancholy.  How 
savage  must  he  be,  who  can  sacrifice  the  quiet 
of  such  a mind  to  a transient  burst  of  mirth  ! 
Let  him  who  wantonly  sports  away  the  peace 
of  a poor  lady  consider  what  discord  he  sows  in 
families;  how  often  he  wrings  the  heart  of  a 
hoary  parent;  how  often  he  rouses  the  fury  of  a 
jealous  husband ; how  he  extorts  from  the 
abused  woman  curses,  perhaps  not  unheard, 
and  poured  out  in  the  bitterness  of  her  soul ! 
What  weapons  hath  she  wherewith  to  repel 
such  an  outrage  ! How  shall  she  oppose  her 
softness  and  imbecility  to  the  hardened  fore- 
head of  a coward  who  hath  trampled  upon 
weakness  that  could  not  resist  him  ! to  a buf- 
foon, who  hath  slandered  innocence  to  raise  the 
laughter  of  fools  ! who  hath  ‘ scattered  fire- 
brands,  arrows,  and  deaths,  and  said,  am  I not 
in  sport  I’ 

Irreverent  reflections  upon  men  of  learning 
and  note,  if  their  character  be  sacred,  do  great 
disservice  to  religion,  and  betray  a vile  mind 
in  the  author.  I have  therefore  always  thought 
with  indignation  upon  that  ‘ accuser  of  the  bre- 
thren,’ the  famous  antiquary,*  whose  employ- 
ment it  was  for  several  years,  to  rake  up  all  the 
ill-natured  stories  that  had  ever  been  fastened 
upon  celebrated  men,  and  transmit  them  to  pos- 
terity with  cruel  industry,  and  malicious  joy. 
Though  the  good  men,  ill-used,  may  out  of  a 
meek  and  Christian  disposition,  so  far  subdue 
their  natural  resentment,  as  to  neglect  and  for- 
give ; yet  the  inventors  of  such  calumnies  will 
find  generous  persons,  whose  bravery  of  mind 
makes  them  think  themselves  proper  instru- 
ments to  chastise  such  insolence.  And  I have 
in  my  time,  more  than  once  known  the  disci- 
pline of  the  blanket  administered  to  the  offen- 
ders, and  all  their  slanders  answered  by  that 
kind  of  syllogism  which  the  ancient  Romans 
called  the  argumentum  bacillinum. 

I have  less  compassion  for  men  of  sprightly 
parts  and  genius,  whose  characters  are  played 
upon,  because  they  have  it  in  their  power  to 
revenge  themselves  tenfold.  But  I think  of  all 
the  classes  of  mankind,  they  are  the  most  par- 
donable if  they  pay  the  slanderer  in  his  own 
coin.  For  their  names  being  already  blazed 
abroad  in  the  wmrld,  the  least  blot  thrown  upon 
them  is  displayed  far  and  wide ; and  they  have 
this  sad  privilege  above  the  men  in  obscurity, 
that  the  dishonour  travels  as  far  as  their  fame. 

* Anthony  Wood,  author  of  the  Athens  Oxoniensis, 
a valuable  collection  of  the  lives  of  writers  and  bishops 
educated  at  Oxford,  2 vols.  folio,  1691. 


To  be  even  therefore  with  their  enemy,  they 
are  but  too  apt  to  diffuse  his  infamy  as  far  as 
their  own  reputation;  and  perhaps  triumph  in  i 
secret,  that  they  have  it  in  their  power  to  make 
his  name  the  scoff  and  derision  of  after-ages. 
This,  I say,  they  are  too  apt  to  do.  For  some- 
times  they  resent  the  exposing  of  their  little  af- 
fectations or  slips  in  writing,  as  much  as  wounds  ■ 
upon  their  honour.  The  first  are  trifles  they 
should  laugh  away,  but  the  latter  deserves  their 
utmost  severity. 

I must  confess  a warmth  against  the  buffoon- 
eries mentioned  in  the  beginning  of  this  paper, 
as  they  have  so  many  circumstances  to  aggra- 
vate their  guilt.  A license  for  a man  to  stand 
up  in  the  schools  of  the  prophets,  in  a grave 
decent  habit,  and  audaciously  vent  his  obloquies 
against  the  doctors  of  our  church,  and  directors 
of  our  young  nobility,  gentry  and  clergy,  in 
their  hearing  and  before  their  eyes:  to  throw 
calumnies  upon  poor  defenceless  women,  and 
offend  their  ears  with  nauseous  ribaldry,  and 
name  their  names  at  length  in  a public  theatre, 
when  a queen  is  upon  the  throne:  such  a li- 
cense as  this  never  yet  gained  ground  in  our 
playhouses;  and  I hope  will  not  need  a law  to 
forbid  it.  Were  I to  advise  in  this  matter,  I 
should  represent  to  the  orator  how  noble  a field 
there  lay  before  him  for  panegyric;  what  a 
happy  opportunity  he  had  of  doing  justice  to 
the  great  men  who  once  were  of  that  famous 
body,  or  now  shine  forth  in  it;  nor  should  I ne- 
glect to  insinuate  the  advantages  he  might  pro- 
pose by  gaining  their  friendship,  whose  worth, 
by  a contrary  treatment,  he  will  be  imagined 
either  not  to  know,  or  to  envy.  This  might  res- 
cue the  name  from  scandal;  and  if,  as  it  ought, 
this  performance  turned  solely  upon  matters  of 
wit  and  learning,  it  might  have  the  honour  of 
being  one  of  the  first  productions  of  the  magni- 
ficent printing  house  just  erected  at  Oxford. 

This  paper  is  written  with  a design  to  make 
my  journey  to  Oxford  agreeable  to  me,  where  I 
design  to  be  at  the  Public  Act.  If  my  advice  is 
neglected,  I shall  not  scruple  to  insert  in  the 
Guardian  whatever  the  men  of  letters  and  ge- 
nius transmit  to  me,  in  their  own  vindication ; i 
and  I hereby  promise  that  I myself  will  draw  f 
my  pen  in  defence  of  all  injured  women. 


No.  73.]  Thursday,  June  i,  n 13. 

In  amore  hsec  insunt  omnia.  • 

Ter.  Eun.  Act  i.  Sc.  1.  | 

All  these  things  are  inseparable  from  love.  ! 

It  is  a matter  of  great  concern  that  there  ! 
come  so  many  letters  to  me,  wherein  I see  pa- 
rents make  love  for  their  children,  and,  without  ' 
any  manner  of  regard  to  the  season  of  life,  and  i 
the  respective  interests  of  their  progeny,  judge 
of  their  future  happiness  by  the  rules  of  ordi- 
nary commerce.  When  a man  falls  in  love  in 
some  families,  they  use  him  as  if  his  land  was 
mortgaged  to  them,  and  he  cannot  discharge 
himself,  but  by  really  making  it  the  same  thing 
in  an  unreasonable  settlement,  or  foregoing 
what  is  dearer  to  him  than  his  estate  itself. — 


No.  73.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


107 


These  extortioners  are  of  all  others  the  most 
cruel,  and  the  sharks,  who  prey  upon  the  inad- 
vertency of  young'  Iieirs,  are  more  pardonable 
than  those  who  trespass  upon  the  good  opinion 
of  those  who  treat  with  them  upon  the  foot  of 
choice  and  respect.  The  following  letters  may 
place  in  the  reader’s  view  uneasiness  of  this 
sort,  which  may  perhaps  be  useful  to  some  un- 
der the  circumstances  mentioned  by  my  cor- 
respondents. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside^  Esquire. 

* From  a certain  town  in  Cumberland,  May  21. 

‘ Venerable  Sir, — It  is  impossible  to  express 
the  universal  satisfaction  your  precautions  give 
in  a country  so  far  north  as  ours;  and  indeed  it 
were  impertinent  to  expatiate  in  a case  that  is 
by  no  means  particular  to  ourselves,  all  man- 
kind who  wish  well  to  one  another,  being  equally 
concerned  in  their  success.  However,  as  all  na- 
tions  have  not  the  genius,  and  each  particular 
man  has  his  different  views  and  taste,  we  north- 
erns cannot  but  acknowledge  our  obligations  in 
a more  especial  manner,  for  your  matrimonial 
precautions,  which  we  more  immediately  are 
interested  in.  Our  climate  has  ever  been  re- 
corded as  friendly  to  the  continuation  of  our 
kind;  and  the  ancient  histories  are  not  more 
full  of  their  Goths  and  Vandals,  that  in  swarms 
overspread  all  Europe,  than  modern  story  of  its 
Yorkshire  hostlers  and  attorneys,  who  are  re- 
markably eminent  and  beneficial  in  every  mar- 
ket-town, and  most  inns  of  this  kingdom.  I 
shall  not  here  presume  to  enter,  with  the  an- 
cient sages,  into  a particular  reasoning  upon 
the  case,  as  whether  it  proceeds  from  the  cold 
temper  of  the  air,  or  the  particular  constitutions 
of  the  persons,  or  both ; from  the  fashionable 
want  of  artifice  in  the  women,  and  their  entire 
satisfaction  in  one  conquest  only,  or  the  happy 
ignorance  in  the  men,  of  those  southern  vices 
which  effeminate  mankind. 

‘ From  this  encomium,  I do  not  question  but 
by  this  tune  you  infer  me  happy  already  in  the 
legal  possession  of  some  fair  one,  or  in  a proba- 
ble way  of  being  so.  But  alas ! neither  is  my 
case,  and  from  the  cold  damp  which  this  minute 
seizes  upon  my  heart,  I presage  never  will. — 
What  shall  I do?  To  complain  here  is  to  talk 
to  winds,  or  mortals  as  regardless  as  they.  The 
tempestuous  storms  in  the  neighbouring  moun- 
tains, are  not  more  relentless,  or  the  crags  more 
deaf,  than  the  old  gentleman  is  to  my  sighs  and 
prayers.  The  lovely  Pastorella  indeed  hears 
and  gently  sighs,  but  it  is  only  to  increase  my 
tortures;  she  is  too  dutiful  to  disobey  a father; 
and  I neither  able,  nor  forward,  to  receive  her 
by  an  act  of  disobedience. 

‘ As  to  myself,  my  humour,  until  this  acci- 
dent to  ruffle  it,  has  ever  been  gay  and  thought- 
less, perpetually  toying  amongst  the  women, 
dancing  briskly,  and  singing  softly.  For  I take 
it,  more  men  miscarry  amongst  them  for  hav- 
ing too  much  than  too  little  understanding. — 
Pastorella  seems  willing  to  relieve  me  from  my 
frights ; and  by  her  constant  carriage,  by  ad- 
mitting my  visits  at  all  hours,  has  convinced  all 
hereabouts  of  my  happiness  with  her,  and  occa- 
sioned a total  defection  amongst  her  former  lo- 


vers, to  my  infinite  contentment.  Ah!  Mr.  Iron- 
side, could  you  but  see  in  a cairn  evening  the 
profusion  of  ease  and  tenderness  betwixt  us! 
The  murmuring  river  that  glides  gently  by,  (he 
cooing  turtles  in  the  neiglibouring  groves,  are 
harsh  compared  to  her  more  tuneful  voice.  I'he 
happy  pair,  first  joined  in  Paradise,  not  more 
enamoured  walked  ! more  sweetly  loved  ! But 
alas  ! what  is  all  this ! an  imaginary  joy,  in 
whieh  we  trifle  away  our  preeious  time,  with- 
out coming  together  for  ever.  That  must  de- 
pend upon  the  old  gentleman,  v/ho  sees  I can- 
not live  without  his  daughter,  and  knows  I 
cannot,  upon  his  terms,  be  ever  happy  with  her. 
I beg  of  you  to  send  for  us  all  up  to  town  to- 
gether, that  we  may  be  heard  before  you  (for 
we  all  agree  in  a deferenee  to  your  judgment) 
upon  these  heads,  Whether  the  authority  of  a 
father  should  not  accommodate  itself  to  the  li- 
berty of  a free-born  English  woman  ? 

‘Whether,  if  you  think  fit  to  take  the  old 
gentleman  into  your  care,  the  daughter  may 
not  choose  her  lover  for  her  Guardian  ? 

‘ Whether  all  parents  are  not  obliged  to  pro- 
vide for  the  just  passions  of  their  children,  when 
grown  up,  as  well  as  food  and  raiment  in  their 
tender  years  ? 

‘ These  and  such  points  being  unsettled  in 
the  world,  are  cause  of  great  distraction,  and  it 
would  be  worthy  your  great  age  and  experience, 
to  consider  them  distinctly  for  the  benefit  of 
domestic  life.  All  which,  most  venerable  Nes- 
tor, is  humbly  submitted  by  all  your  northern 
friends,  as  well  as  your  most  obedient,  and  de- 
voted humble  servant,  PASTOR  FIDO.’ 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — We  who  subscribe  this,  are 
man  and  wife,  and  have  been  so  these  fifteen 
years  : but  you  must  know  we  have  quarrelled 
twice  a day  ever  since  we  came  together,  and 
at  the  same  time  have  a very  tender  regard  for 
one  another.  We  observe  this  habitual  dispu- 
tation has  an  ill  effect  upon  our  children,  and 
they  lose  their  respect  towards  us  from  this 
jangling  of  ours.  We  lately  entered  into  an 
agreement,  that  from  that  time  forward,  when 
either  should  fall  into  passion,  the  party  angry 
should  go  into  another  room,  and  write  a note 
to  the  other  by  one  of  the  children,  and  the  per- 
son writ  to,  right  or  wrong,  beg  pardon ; be- 
cause the  writing  to  avoid  passion,  is  in  itself 
an  act  of  kindness.  This  little  method,  with 
the  smiles  of  the  messengers,  and  other  name- 
less incidents  in  the  management  of  this  cor- 
respondence with  the  next  room,  has  produced 
inexpressible  delight,  made  our  children  and 
servants  cheerful  under  our  care  and  protec- 
tion, and  made  us  ourselves  sensible  of  a thou- 
sand good  qualities  we  now  see  in  each  other, 
which  could  not  before  shine  out,  because  of 
our  mutual  impatience.  Your  humble  servants, 
‘PHILIP  AND  MARY. 

‘P.  S.  Since  the  above,  my  wife  has  gone  out 
of  the  room,  and  writes  word  by  Billy,  that  she 
would  have  in  the  above  letter,  the  words  “ jan- 
gling of  ours,”  changed  into  the  words,  “ these 
our  frequent  debates.”  I allow  of  the  amend- 
ment, and  desire  you  would  understand  accord- 
ingly, that  we  never  jangled,  but  went  into  fre- 


108 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


No.  74. 


t 


quent  debates,  which  were  always  held  in  a com- 
mittee of  the  whole  house.’ 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘Sagacious  Sir, — We  married  men  reckon 
ourselves  under  your  ward,  as  well  as  those  who 
live  in  a less  regular  condition.  You  must 
know,  I have  a wife,  who  is  one  of  those  good 
women  who  are  never  very  angry,  or  very  much 
pleased.  My  dear  is  rather  inclined  to  the 
former,  and  will  walk  about  in  soliloquy,  drop- 
ping sentences  to  herself  of  management,  say- 
ing “ she  will  say  nothing,  but  she  knows  when 
her  head  is  laid  what — ” and  the  rest  of  that 
kind  of  half  expressions.  I am  never  inquisi- 
tive to  know  what  is  her  grievance,  because  I 
know  it  is  only  constitution.  I call  her  by  the 
kind  appellation  of  My  Gentle  Murmur,  and  I 
am  so  used  to  hear  her,  that  I believe  I could 
not  sleep  without  it.  It  would  not  be  amiss  if 
you  communicated  this  to  the  public,  that  many 
who  think  their  wives  angry,  may  know  they 
are  only'^  not  pleased,  and  that  very  many  come 
into  this  w’orld,  and  go  out  of  it  at  a very  good 
old  age,  w’ithout  having  ever  been  much  trans- 
ported wi*^h  joy  or  grief  in  their  whole  lives. 
Your  humble  servant, 

‘ ARTHUR  SMOOTH.’ 

‘ Most  venerable  Nestor, — I am  now  three 
and  twenty,  and  in  the  utmost  perplexity  how  to 
behave  myself  towards  a gentleman  whom  my 
father  has  admitted  to  visit  me  as  a lover.  I 
plainly  perceive  my  father  designs  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  passion  towards  me,  and  require 
terms  of  him  which  will  make  him  fly  off.  I 
have  orders  to  be  cold  to  him  in  all  my  beha- 
viour ; but  if  you  insert  this  letter  in  the  Guar- 
dian, he  will  know  that  distance  is  constrained. 
I love  him  better  than  life,  am  satisfied  with 
the  offer  he  has  made,  and  desire  him  to  stick 
to  it,  that  he  may  not  hereafter  think  he  has 
purchased  me  too  dear.  My  mother  knows  I 
love  him,  so  that  my  father  must  comply.  Your 
thankful  ward,  SUSANNA 

‘ P.  S.  I give  my  service  to  him,  and  desire 
the  settlement  may  be  such  as  show’s  I have  my 
thoughts  fixed  upon  my  happiness  in  being  his 
wife  rather  than  his  widow.’ 


No.  74.]  Friday,  June  5,  1713. 

iMagne  Parens,  sancta  quam  majestate  verendus ! 

Buchan. 

Great  Parent ! how  majestic ! how  adorable ! 

I WILL  make  no  apology  for  preferring  this 
letter,  and  the  extract  following,  to  any  thing 
else  which  I could  possibly  insert. 

‘ Cambridge,  May  31. 

‘ Sir, — You  having  been  pleased  to  take  no- 
tice of  what  you  conceived  excellent  in  some 
of  our  English  divines,  I have  here  presumed  to 
send  a specimen,  which,  if  I am  not  mistaken, 
may,  for  acuteness  of  judgment,  ornament  of 


speech,  and  true  sublime,  compare  with  any  of 
the  choicest  writings  of  the  ancient  fathers  or  i 
doctors  of  the  church,  who  lived  nearest  to  the  > 
apostles’  times.  The  subject  is  no  less  than 
that  of  God  himself;  and  the  design,  besides 
doing  some  honour  to  our  own  nation,  is  to 
show  by  a fresh  example,  to  what  a height  and 
strength  of  thought  a person,  who  appears  not 
to  be  by  nature  endued  with  the  quickest  parts, 
may  arrive,  through  a sincere  and  steady  prac- 
tice of  the  Christian  religion  ; I mean,  as  taught 
and  administered  in  the  church  of  England  : 
which  will,  at  the  same  time,  prove  that  the 
force  of  spiritual  assistance  is  not  at  all  abated 
by  length  of  time,  or  the  iniquity  of  mankind  ; 
but  that  if  men  were  not  wanting  to  themselves, 
and  (as  our  excellent  author  speaks)  could  but 
be  persuaded  to  conform  to  our  church’s  rules, 
they  might  still  live  as  the  primitive  Christians 
did,  and  come  short  of  none  of  those  eminent 
saints  for  virtue  and  holiness.  The  author  from 
whom  this  collection  is  made,  is  bishop  Beve- 
ridge, vol.  ii.  serm.  1.  PHILOTHEUS.’ 

In  treating  upon  that  passage  in  the  book  of 
Exodus,  where  Moses  being  ordered  to  lead  the 
children  of  Israel  out  of  Egypt,  he  asked  God 
what  name  he  should  mention  him  by  to  that 
people,  in  order  to  dispose  them  to  obey  him  ; 
and  God  answered,  “ I Am  that  I Am  and 
bade  him  tell  them,  “ I Am  hath  sent  me  unto 
you  the  admirable  author  thus  discourses  : 
‘God  having  been  pleased  to  reveal  himself  to 
us  under  this  name  or  title,  “ I Am  that  I Am,” 
he  thereby  suggests  to  us,  that  he  would  not 
have  us  apprehend  of  him,  as  of  any  particular 
or  limited  being,  but  as  a being  in  general,  oi 
the  Being  of  all  beings ; who  giveth  being  to, 
and  therefore  exercises  authority  over,  all  things 
in  the  world.  He  did  not  answer  Moses,  “I  am 
the  great,  the  living,  the  true,  the  everlasting 
God,”  he  did  not  say,  “ I am  the  almighty  ere- 
ator,  preserver,  and  governor,  of  the  whole 
world,”  but  “ I Am  that  I Am intimating, 
that  if  ]\Ioses  desired  such  a name  of  God  as 
might  fully  describe  his  nature  as  in  itself,  that 
is  a thing  impossible,  there  being  no  words  to  be 
found  in  any  language,  whereby  to  express  the 
glory  of  an  infinite  being,  especially  so  as  that 
finite  creatures  should  be  able  fully  to  conceive 
it.  Yet,  how’ever,  in  these  words  he  is  pleased 
to  acquaint  us  what  kind  of  thoughts  he  would 
have  us  entertain  of  him,  insomuch,  that  could 
we  but  rightly  apprehend  what  is  couched  un- 
der, and  intended  by  them,  we  should  doubtless 
have  as  high  and  true  conceptions  of  God  as  it 

is  possible  for  creatures  to  have.’ The  answer 

given  suggests  farther  to  us  these  following  no- 
tions of  the  most  high  God.  ‘ First,  that  he  is 
one  being,  existing  in  and  of  himself : his  unity 
is  implied  in  that  he  saith,  “ I his  existence 
in  that  he  saith,  “ I Am  his  existence  in  and 
of  himself,  in  that  he  saith,  “I  Am  that  I Am,” 
that  is,  “ I am  in  and  of  myself,”  not  receiving 
any  thing  from,  nor  depending  upon  any  other. 

The  same  expression  implies,  that  as  God 

is  only  one,  so  that  he  is  a most  pure  and  simple 
being ; for  here,  we  see,  he  admits  nothing  into 
the  manifestation  of  himself  but  pure  essence. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


109 


No.  74.] 

sayings,  “ I Am  that  I Am,”  that  is,  bein^  itself, 
without  any  mixture  or  composition.  And  there- 
fore we  must  not  conceive  of  God,  a.s  made  up 
of  several  parts,  or  faculties,  or  ingredients,  but 
only  as  one  who  “ is  that  he  is,”  and  whatsoever 
is  in  him  is  himself : And  although  we  read  of 
several  properties  attributed  to  him  in  scripture, 
as  wisdom,  goodness,  justice,  &c.  we  must  not 
apprehend  them  to  be  several  powers,  habits,  or 
qualities,  as  they  are  in  us  ; for  as  they  are  in 
God,  they  are  neither  distinguished  from  one 
another,  nor  from  his  nature  or  essence,  in  whom 
they  are  said  to  be.  In  whom,  I say,  they  are 
said  to  be  : for  to  speak  properly,  they  are  not 
in  him,  but  are  his  very  essence,  or  nature  it- 
self; which  acting  severally  upon  several  ob- 
jects, seems  to  us  to  act  from  several  properties 
or  perfections  in  him;  whereas,  all  the  differ- 
ence is  only  in  our  different  apprehensions  of 
the  same  thing.  God  in  himself  is  a most  sim- 
ple and  pure  act,  and  therefore  cannot  have  any 
thing  in  him,  but  what  is  that  most  simple  and 
pure  act  itself ; which  seeing  it  bringeth  upon 
every  creature  what  it  deserves,  we  conceive  of 
it  as  of  several  divine  perfections  in  the  same 
Almighty  Being.  Whereas  God,  whose  under- 
standing is  infinite  as  himself,  doth  not  appre- 
hend himself  under  the  distinct  notions  of  wis- 
dom, or  goodness,  or  justice,  or  the  like,  but  only 
as  Jehovah  : And  therefore,  in  this  place,  he 
doth  not  say,  ” I am  wise,  or  just,  or  good,”  but 
simply,  “ I Am  that  I Am.”  ’ 

Having  thus  offered  at  something  towards 
the  explication  of  the  first  of  these  mysterious 
sayings  in  the  answer  God  made  to  Moses, 
when  he  designed  to  encourage  him  to  lead  his 
people  out  of  Egypt,  he  proceeds  to  consider  the 
other,  whereby  God  calls  himself  absolutely  “ I 
Am.”  Concerning  which  he  takes  notice,  ‘ that 
though  “ I Am”  be  commonly  a verb  of  the 
I first  person,  yet  it  is  here  used  as  a noun  sub- 
stantive, or  proper  name,  and  is  the  nominative 
case  to  another  verb  of  the  third  person  in  these 
words,  “ I Am  hath  sent  me  unto  you.”  A 
j strange  expression ! But  when  God  speaks  of 
! himself,  he  cannot  be  confined  to  grammar- 
rules,  being  infinitely  above  and  beyond  the 
i reach  of  all  languages  in  the  world.  And  there- 
1 fore,  it  is  no  wonder  that  when  he  would  reveal 
himself,  he  goes  out  of  our  common  way  of 
speaking  one  to  another,  and  expresseth  him- 
j self  in  a way  peculiar  to  himself,  and  such  as 
is  suitable  and  proper  to  his  own  nature  and 
glory. 

I ‘ Hence,  therefore,  as  when  he  speaks  of  him- 
self and  his  own  eternal  essence,  he  saith,  “ I 
Am  that  I Am  ;”  so  when  he  speaks  of  himself, 
; with  reference  to  his  creatures,  and  especially 
to  his  people,  he  saith,  “ I Am.”  He  doth  not 
say,  “ I am  their  light,  their  life,  their  guide, 
! their  strength,  or  tower,”  but  only  “ I Am  :” 

, He  sets  as  it  were  his  hand  to  a blank,  that  his 
people  may  write  under  it  what  they  please  that 
is  good  for  them.  As  if  he  should  say,  “ Are 
they  weak  ? I am  Strength.  Are  they  poor  ? 
I am  Riches.  Are  they  in  trouble  ? I am  Com- 
fort. Are  they  sick  1 I am  Health.  Are  they 
dying  ? I am  Life.  Have  they  nothing  ? I am 
All  Things.  I am  Wisdom  and  Power,  I am 


Justice  and  Mercy.  I am  Grace  and  Goodness, 
I am  Glory,  Beauty,  Holiness,  Eminency,  Su- 
pereminency.  Perfection,  All-sufficiency,  Eter- 
nity, Jehovah,  I Am.  Whatsoever  is  suitable 
to  their  nature,  or  convenient  for  them  in  their 
several  conditions,  that  I am.  Whatsoever  is 
amiable  in  itself,  or  desirable  unto  them,  that  I 
am.  Whatsoever  is  pure  and  holy  ; whatsoever 
is  great  or  pleasant ; whatsoever  is  good  or 
needful  to  make  men  happy  ; that  I am.”  So 
that,  in  short,  God  here  represents  himself  unto 
us  as  a universal  good,  and  leaves  us  to  make 
the  application  of  it  to  ourselves,  aceording  to 
our  several  wants,  capacities,  and  desires,  by 
saying  only  in  general,  “ I Am.” 

Again,  page  27,  he  thus  discourses  : ‘ There 
is  more  solid  joy  and  comfort,  more  real  delight 
and  satisfaction  of  mind,  in  one  single  thought 
of  God,  rightly  formed,  than  all  the  riches,  and 
honours,  and  pleasures  of  this  world,  put  them 
all  together,  are  able  to  afford. — Let  us  then  call 
in  all  our  scattered  thoughts  from  all  things 
here  below,  and  raise  them  up  and  unite  them 
all  to  the  most  high  God  ; apprehending  him 
under  the  idea,  image,  or  likeness  of  any  thing 
else,  but  as  infinitely  greater,  and  higher,  and 
better  than  all  things  ; as  one  existing  in  and  of 
himself,  and  giving  essence  and  existence  to  all 
things  in  the  world  besides  himself ; as  one  so 
pure  and  simple  that  there  is  nothing  in  him 
but  himself,  but  essence  and  being  itself ; as  one 
so  infinite  and  omnipotent,  that  wheresoever 
any  thing  else  is  in  the  whole  world,  there  he 
is,  and  beyond  the  world,  where  nothing  else  is, 
there  all  things  are,  because  he  is  there,  as  one 
so  wise,  so  knowing,  so  omniscient,  that  he  at 
this  very  moment,  and  always,  sees  what  all 
the  angels  are  doing  in  heaven  ; what  all  the 
Hwls  are  doing  in  the  air  ; what  all  the  fishes 
are  doing  in  the  waters ; what  all  the  devils  are 
doing  in  hell ; what  all  the  men  and  beasts,  and 
the  very  insects,  are  doing  upon  earth ; as  one 
so  powerful  and  omnipotent,  that  he  can  do 
whatsoever  he  will,  only  by  willing  it  should  be 
done ; as  one  so  great,  so  good,  so  glorious,  so 
immutable,  so  transcendent,  so  infinite,  so  in- 
comprehensible,  so  eternal,  what  shall  I say  ? so 
Jehovah,  that  the  more  we  think  of  him,  the 
more  we  admire  him,  the  more  we  adore  him, 
the  mere  we  love  him,  the  more  we  may  and 
ought ; our  highest  coneeptions  of  him  being 
as  much  beneath  him,  as  our  greatest  services 
come  short  of  what  we  owe  him. 

‘ Seeing  therefore  we  cannot  think  of  God  so 
highly  as  he  is,  let  us  think  of  him  as  highly 
as  we  can  : and  for  that  end  let  us  get  above 
ourselves,  and  above  the  world,  and  raise  up  our 
thoughts  higher  and  higher,  and  higher  still, 
and  when  we  have  got  them  up  as  high  as  pos- 
sibly we  can,  let  us  apprehend  a Being  infinitely 
higher  than  the  highest  of  them  ; and  then  find- 
ing ourselves  at  a loss,  amazed,  confounded  at 
such  an  infinite  height  of  infinite  perfections, 
let  us  fall  down  in  humble  and  hearty  desires 
to  be  freed  from  those  dark  prisons  wherein  we 
are  now  immured,  that  we  may  take  our  flight 
into  eternity,  and  there  (through  the  merits  of 
our  blessed  Saviour)  see  this  infinite  Being  face 
to  face,  and  enjoy  him  for  ever.’ 


no 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


TNo.  75. 


No.  75.]  Saturday,  June  6,  1713. 

Hie  est,  aut  nusquam,  quod  quaerimus. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  xvii.  39. 

— Here,  or  no  where,  we  may  hope  to  find 

What  we  desire.  Creech. 

This  paper  shall  consist  of  extracts  from  two 
great  divines,  but  of  very  different  genius.  The 
one  is  to  be  admired  for  convincing  the  under- 
standing, the  other  for  inflaming  the  heart.  The 
former  urges  us  in  this  plain  and  forcible  man- 
ner to  an  inquiry  into  religion,  and  practising 
its  precepts. 

‘ Suppose  the  world  began  some  time  to  be ; 
it  must  either  be  made  by  counsel  and  design, 
that  is,  produced  by  some  being  that  knew  what 
it  did,  that  did  contrive  it  and  frame  it  as  it  is ; 
which  it  is  easy  to  conceive,  a being  that  is  in- 
finitely good,  and  wise,  and  powerful,  might  do: 
but  this  is  to  own  a God.  Or  else  the  matter  of 
it  being  supposed  to  have  been  always,  and  in 
continual  motion  and  tumult,  it  at  last  happened 
to  fall  into  this  order,  and  the  parts  of  matter, 
after  various  agitations,  were  at  length  entan- 
gled and  knit  together  in  this  order,  in  which 
we  see  the  world  to  be.  But  can  any  man  think 
this  reasonable  to  imagine,  that  in  the  infinite 
variety  which  is  in  the  world,  all  things  should 
happen  by  chance,  as  well,  and  as  orderly,  as 
the  greatest  wisdom  could  have  contrived  them  ? 
Whoever  can  believe  this,  must  do  it  with  his 
will,  and  not  with  his  understanding. 

‘ Supposing  the  reasons  for  and  against  the 
principles  of  religion  were  equal,  yet  the  danger 
and  hazard  is  so  unequal,  as  would  sway  a pru- 
dent man  to  the  affirmative.  Suppose  a man 
believe  there  is  no  God,  nor  life  after  this,  anc 
suppose  he  be  in  the  right,  but  not  certain  that 
he  is  (for  that  I am  sure  in  this  case  is  impossi- 
ble) ; all  the  advantage  he  hath  by  this  opinion 
relates  only  to  this  world  and  this  present  time  ; 
for  he  cannot  be  the  better  for  it  when  he  is  not. 
Now  what  advantage  will  it  be  to  him  in  this 
life  ? He  shall  have  the  more  liberty  lo  do  what 
he  pleaseth ; that  is,  it  furnisheth  him  vith  a 
stronger  temptation  to  be  intemperate,  anc  lust- 
ful, and  unjust,  that  is,  to  do  those  things  which 
prejudice  his  body,  and  his  health,  which  cloud 
his  reason,  and  darken  his  understanding,  which 
will  make  him  enemies  in  the  world,  will  bring 
him  into  danger.  So  that  it  is  no  advantage  to 
any  man  to  be  vicious  ; and  yet  this  is  the  great- 
est use  that  is  made  of  atheistical  principles ; to 
comfort  men  in  their  vicious  courses.  But  if 
thou  hast  a mind  to  be  virtuous,  and  temperate, 
and  just,  the  belief  of  the  principles  of  religion 
will  be  no  obstacle,  but  a furtherance  to  thee  in 
this  course.  All  the  advantage  a man  can  hope 
for,  by  disbelieving  the  principles  of  religion,  is 
to  escape  trouble  and  persecution  in  this  world, 
which  may  happen  to  him  upon  account  of  reli- 
gion. But  supposing  there  be  a God,  and  a life 
after  this  ; then  what  a vast  difference  is  there 
of  the  consequences  of  these  opinions  ! As 
much  as  between  finite  and  infinite,  time  and 
eternity. 

‘ To  persuade  men  to  believe  the  scriptures,  I 
only  offer  this  to  men’s  consideration : If  there 
be  a God,  whose  providence  governs  the  world. 


and  all  the  creatures  in  it,  is  it  not  reasonable  to 
think  that  he  hath  a particular  care  of  men,  the 
noblest  part  of  this  visible  world  ? And  seeing 
he  hath  made  them  capable  of  eternal  duration, 
that  he  hath  provided  for  their  eternal  happiness, 
and  sufficiently  revealed  to  them  the  way  to  it, 
and  the  terms  and  conditions  of  it ! Now  let 
any  man  produce  any  book  in  the  world,  that 
pretends  to  be  from  God,  and  to  do  this,  that  for  \ 
the  matter  of  it  is  so  worthy  of  God,  the  doc- 
trines whereof  are  so  useful,  and  the  precepts  so 
reasonable,  and  the  arguments  so  powerful,  the 
truth  of  all  which  was  confirmed  by  so  many 
great  and  unquestionable  miracles,  the  relation 
of  which  has  been  transmitted  to  posterity  in 
public  and  authentic  records,  written  by  those  « 

who  were  eye  and  ear  witnesses  of  what  they  | 

wrote,  and  free  from  suspicion  of  any  worldly  ^ 

interest  and  design ; let  any  produce  a book  i 

like  to  this,  in  all  these  respects  ; and  which,  ,i 

over  and  besides,  hath,  by  the  power  and  rea- 
sonableness  of  the  doctrines  contained  in  it,  pre-  .» 

vailed  so  miraculously  in  the  wmrld,  by  weak  i 

and  inconsiderable  means,  in  opposition  to  all  \ 

the  wit  and  power  of  the  w’orld,  and  under  such  I 

discouragements  as  no  other  religion  was  ever  v 

assaulted  with  ; let  any  man  bring  forth  such  a j 

book,  and  he  hath  my  leave  to  believe  it  as  soon  i 

as  the  Bible.  But  if  there  be  none  such,  as  I am  i 

well  assured  there  is  not,  then  every  one  that  i 

thinks  God  hath  revealed  himself  to  men,  ought 
to  embrace  and  entertain  the  doctrine  of  the 
holy  scriptures,  as  revealed  by  God. 

‘ And  now  having  presented  men  with  such 
arguments  and  considerations  as  are  proper, 
and  I think  sufficient  to  induce  belief,  I think 
it  not  unreasonable  to  entreat  and  urge  men  di- 
ligently and  impartially  to  consider  these  mat- 
ters ; and  if  there  be  weight  in  these  considera- 
tions  to  sway  reasonable  men,  that  they  would 
not  suffer  themselves  to  be  biassed  by  prejudice, 
or  passion,  or  interest,  to  a contrary  persuasion. 

Thus  much  I may  with  reason  desire  of  men ; 
for  though  men  cannot  believe  what  they  will, 
yet  men  may,  if  they  will,  consider  things  se- 
riously  and  impartially,  and  yield  or  withhold 
their  assent,  as  they  shall  see  cause,  after  a tho- 
rough search  and  examination. 

‘ If  any  man  will  offer  a serious  argument 
against  any  of  the  principles  of  religion,  and 
will  debate  the  matter  soberly,  as  one  that  con- 
siders the  infinite  consequences  of  these  things 
one  way  or  other,  and  would  gladly  be  satisfied, 
he  deserves  to  be  heard  what  he  can  say,  but  if 
a man  will  turn  religion  into  raillery,  and  con- 
fute it  by  two  or  three  bold  jests,  he  doth  not 
make  religion,  but  himself,  ridiculous,  in  the 
opinion  of  all  considerate  men,  because  he  sports 
with  his  life. 

‘ So  that  it  concerns  every  man  that  would 
not  trifle  away  his  soul,  and  fool  himself  into 
irrecoverable  misery,  with  the  greatest  serious- 
ness to  inquire  into  these  things,  whether  they 
be  so,  or  no,  and  patiently  to  consider  the  argu- 
ments that  are  brought  for  them. 

* And  when  you  are  examining  these  matters, 
do  not  take  into  consideration  any  sensual  or 
worldly  interest ; but  deal  fairly  and  impartially 
with  yourselves.  Think  with  yourselves  that 
you  have  not  the  making  of  things  true  and 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


Ill 


false,  that  the  principles  of  religion  are  either 
true  or  false,  before  you  think  of  them.  The 
truth  of  things  is  already  fixed  ; either  there  is 
a God,  or  no  God  ; either  your  souls  are  immor- 
tal, or  they  are  not;  either  the  scriptures  are  a 
divine  revelation,  or  an  imposture  ; one  of  these 
is  certain  and  necessary,  and  they  are  not  now 
to  be  altered.  Things  will  not  comply  with  your 
conceits,  and  bend  themselves  to  your  interests  : 
therefore  do  not  think  what  you  would  have  to 
be ; but  consider  impartially  what  is.’ 

The  other  great  writer  is  particularly  useful 
in  his  rapturous  soliloquies,  wherein  he  tliinks 
of  the  Deity  with  the  highest  admiration,  and 
beholds  himself  with  the  most  contrite  lowliness. 
‘ My  present  business,’  says  he,  ‘ is  to  treat  of 
God,  his  being  and  attributes  ; but  “ who  is  suffi- 
cient for  these  things  ?”  At  least,  who  am  I, 
a silly  worm,  that  I should  take  upon  me  to 
speak  of  him,  by  whom  alone  I speak  ; and  be- 
ing myself  but  a finite  sinful  creature,  should 
strive  to  unveil  the  nature  of  the  infinite  and 
Most  Holy  God  ! Alas ! I cannot  so  much  as 
begin  to  think  of  him,  but  immediately  my 
thoughts  are  confounded,  my  heart  is  perplexed, 
my  mind  amazed,  my  head  turns  round,  my 
whole  soul  seems  to  be  unhinged  and  over- 
whelmed within  me.  His  mercy  exalts  me  : 
His  justice  depresseth  me  : His  wisdom  asto- 
nisheth  me  : His  power  affrights  me  : His  glory 
dazzles  mine  eyes  : and  “by  reason  of  his  high- 
ness,” as  Job  speaks,  I cannot  endure : But  the 
least  glimpse  of  Him  makes  me  “ abhor  myself 
and  repent  in  dust  and  ashes”  before  Him.* 


No.  76.J  Monday^  June  8,  1713. 

Solos  aio  bene  vivere,  quorum 

Conspicitur  nitidis  fundata  pecunia  villis. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  xv.  45. 

Those  are  blest  and  only  those. 

Whose  stately  house  their  hidden  treasure  shows. 

Creech. 

I EVER  thought  it  my  duty  to  preserve  peace 
and  love  among  my  wards.  And  since  I have 
set  up  for  a universal  Guardian,  I have  laid  no- 
thing more  to  heart  than  the  differences  and 
quarrels  between  the  landed  and  the  trading  in- 
terests of  my  country,  which  indeed  compre- 
hend the  whole.  I shall  always  contribute,  to 
the  utmost  of  my  power,  to  reconcile  these  in- 
terests to  each  other,  and  to  make  them  both 
sensible  that  their  mutual  happiness  depends 
upon  their  being  friends. 

They  mutually  furnish  each  other  with  all  the 
necessaries  and  conveniences  of  life  ; the  land 
supplies  the  traders  with  corn,  cattle,  wool,  and 
generally  all  the  materials,  either  for  their  sub- 
sistence or  their  riches ; the  traders  in  return 
provide  the  gentlemen  with  houses,  clothes,  and 
many  other  things,  without  which  their  life  at 
best  would  be  uncomfortable.  Yet  these  very 
interests  are  almost  always  clashing ; the  traders 
consider  every  high  duty  upon  any  part  of  their 
trade  as  proceeding  from  jealousy  in  the  gentle- 
men of  their  rivalling  them  too  fast ; and  they 
are  often  enemies  on  this  account.  The  gen- 
tlemen, on  the  other  hand,  think  they  can  never 


lay  too  great  a burden  upon  trade,  though  in 
every  thing  they  eat,  and  drink,  and  wear,  they 
are  sure  to  bear  the  greatest  part  themselves. 

I shall  endeavour  as  much  as  possible,  to  re- 
move this  emulation  between  the  parties,  and  in 
th'e  first  place  to  convince  the  traders,  that  in 
many  instances  high  duties  may  be  laid  upon 
their  imports,  to  enlarge  the  general  trade  of 
the  kingdom.  For  example,  if  there  should  be 
laid  a prohibition,  or  high  duties  which  shall 
amount  to  a prohibition,  upon  the  imports  from 
any  other  country  which  takes  from  us  a mil- 
lion sterling  every  year,  and  returns  us  nothing 
else  but  manufactures  for  the  consumption  of 
our  own  people,  it  is  certain  this  ought  to  be 
considered  as  the  increase  of  our  trade  in  gene- 
ral ; for  if  we  want  these  manufactures,  we  shall 
either  make  them  ourselves,  or,  which  is  the 
same  thing,  import  them  from  other  countries 
in  exchange  for  our  own.  In  either  of  which 
cases,  our  foreign  or  inland  trade  is  enlarged, 
and  so  many  more  of  our  own  people  are  em- 
ployed and  subsisted  for  that  money  which  was 
annually  exported,  that  is,  in  all  probability,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  of  our  people,  for  the 
yearly  sum  of  one  million.  If  our  traders  would 
consider  many  of  our  prohibitions  or  high  du- 
ties in  this  light,  they  would  think  their  country 
and  themselves  obliged  to  the  landed  interest 
for  these  restraints. 

Again,  gentlemen  are  too  apt  to  envy  the 
traders  every  sum  of  money  they  import,  and 
gain  from  abroad,  as  if  it  was  so  much  loss  to 
themselves ; but  if  they  could  be  convinced, 
that  for  every  million  that  shall  be  imported  and 
gained  by  the  traders,  more  than  twice  that  sum 
is  gained  by  the  landed  interest,  they  would 
never  be  averse  to  the  trading  part  of  the  nation. 
To  convince  them,  therefore,  that  this  is  the 
fact,  shall  be  the  remaining  part  of  this  dis- 
course. 

Let  us  suppose  then,  that  a million,  or  if  you 
please,  that  twenty  millions  were  to  be  imported 
and  gained  by  trade : to  what  uses  could  it  be 
applied,  and  which  would  be  the  greatest 
gainers,  the  landed  or  the  trading  interest!  Sup- 
pose it  to  be  twenty  millions. 

It  cannot  at  all  be  doubted,  that  a part  of  the 
afore-mentioned  sum  would  be  laid  out  in  luxury, 
such  as  the  magnificence  of  buildings,  the  plate 
and  furniture  of  houses,  jewels,  and  rich  appa- 
rel, the  elegance  of  diet,  the  splendour  of 
coaciies  and  equipage,  and  such  other  things  as 
are'an  expense  to  the  owners,  and  bring  in  no 
manner  of  profit.  But  because  it  is  seldom 
seen,  that  persons  who  by  great  industry  have 
gained  estates,  are  extravagant  in  their  luxury ; 
and  because  the  revenue  must  be  still  sufficient 
to  support  the  annual  expense,  it  is  hard  to 
conceive  that  more  than  two  of  the  twenty  mil- 
lions can  be  converted  into  this  dead  stock,  at 
least  eighteen  must  still  be  left  to  raise  an  an- 
nual interest  to  the  owners  ; and  the  revenue 
from  the  eighteen  millions,  at  six  per  centum, 
will  be  little  more  than  one  million  per  an- 
num. 

Again,  a part  of  the  twenty  millions  is  very 
likely  to  be  converted  to  increase  the  stock  of 
our  inland  trade,  in  which  is  comprehended  that 
upon  all  our  farms.  This  is  the  trade  which. 


119 


THE  GUARDIAJN. 


[No.  76. 


provides  for  the  annual  consumption  of  our  peo- 
ple, and  a stock  of  the  value  of  two  years’  con- 
sumption is  generally  believed  to  be  sufficient 
for  this  purpose.  If  the  eighteen  millions 
above-mentioned  will  not  raise  a revenue  of 
more  than  one  million  per  annum,  it  is  certain 
that  no  more  than  this  last  value  can  be  added 
to  our  annual  consumption,  and  that  two  of  the 
twenty  millions  will  be  sufficient  to  add  to  the 
stock  of  our  inland  trade. 

Our  foreign  trade  is  considered  upon  another 
foot ; for  though  it  provides  in  part  for  the  an- 
nual consumption  of  our  own  people,  it  provides 
also  for  the  consumption  of  foreign  nations.  It 
exports  our  superfluous  manufactures,  and 
should  make  returns  of  bullion,  or  other  durable 
treasure.  Our  foreign  trade  for  forty  years  last 
past,  in  the  judgment  of  the  most  intelligent 
persons,  has  been  managed  by  a stock  not  less 
than  four,  and  not  exceeding  eight  millions, 
with  which  last  sum  they  think  it  is  driven  at 
this  time,  and  that  it  cannot  be  carried  much 
farther,  unless  our  merchants  shall  endeavour 
to  open  a trade  to  ‘ Terra  Australis  incognita,’ 
or  some  place  that  would  be  equivalent.  It  will 
therefore  be  a very  large  allowance,  that  one  of 
the  twenty  millions  can  be  added  to  the  capital 
stock  of  our  foreign  trade. 

There  may  be  another  way  of  raising  interest, 
that  is,  by  laying  up,  at  a cheap  time,  corn,  or 
other  goods  or  manufactures  that  will  keep,  for 
the  consumption  of  future  years,  and  when  the 
markets  may  happen  to  call  for  them  at  an  ad- 
vanced price.  But  as  most  goods  are  perishable, 
and  waste  something  every  year,  by  which 
means  a part  of  the  principle  is  still  lost,  and 
as  it  is  seldom  seen  that  these  engrossers  get 
more  than  their  principal,  and  the  common  in- 
terest of  their  money,  this  way  is  so  precarious 
and  full  of  hazard,  that  it  is  very  unlikely  any 
more  than  three  of  the  twenty  millions  will  be 
applied  to  engrossing.  It  were  to  be  wished 
the  engrossers  were  more  profitable  traders  for 
themselves ; they  are  certainly  very  beneficial 
for  the  commonwealth ; they  are  a market  for 
the  rich  in  a time  of  plenty,  and  ready  at  hand 
with  relief  for  the  poor  in  a time  of  dearth. 
They  prevent  the  exportation  of  many  necessa- 
ries of  life,  when  they  are  very  cheap ; so  that 
we  are  not  at  the  charge  of  bringing  them  back 
again,  when  they  are  very  dear.  They  save 
the  money  that  is  paid  to  foreign  countries  for 
interest  and  warehouse  room ; but  there  is  so 
much  hazard,  and  so  little  profit  in  this  busi- 
ness, that  if  twenty  millions  were  to  be  im- 
ported, scarce  three  of  them  would  be  applied 
to  the  making  magazines  for  the  kingdom. 

If  any  of  the  money  should  be  lent  at  interest 
to  persons  that  shall  apply  the  same  to  any  of 
the  purposes  above-mentioned,  it  is  still  the 
same  thing.  If  I have  given  good  reasons  for 
what  I have  said,  no  more  than  eight  of  the 
twenty  millions  can  be  applied  either  to  our 
dead  stock  of  luxury,  our  stock  in  inland  or 
foreign  trade,  or  our  stores  or  magazines.  So 
that  still  there  will  remain  twelve  millions, 
which  are  now  no  otherwise  to  be  disposed  of 
than  in  buying  of  lands  or  houses,  or  our  new 
parliamentary  funds,  or  in  being  lent  out  at  in- 
terest upon  mortgages  of  those  securities,  or  to 


persons  who  have  no  other  ways  to  repay  the 
value  than  by  part  of  the  things  themselves. 

The  question  then  is,  what  effect  these  twelve 
millions  will  have  towards  reducing  the  interest 
of  money,  or  raising  the  value  of  estates  ; for  as 
the  former  grows  less,  the  latter  will  ever  rise 
in  proportion.  For  example,  while  the  interest 
of  money  is  five  per  cent,  per  annum,  a man 
lends  two  thousand  pounds  to  raise  a revenue  of 
one  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  by  the  interest 
of  his  money  ; and  for  the  same  reason  he  gives 
two  thousand  pounds  or  more,  to  purchase  an 
estate  of  one  hundred  pounds  per  annum. 
Again,  if  the  interest  of  money  shall  fall  one 
per  cent,  he  must  be  forced  to  lend  two  thousand 
four  hundred  pounds  to  gain  the  revenue  of  one 
hundred  pounds  per  annum,  and  for  the  same 
reason  he  must  give  at  least  two  thousand  four 
hundred  pounds  to  purchase  an  estate  of  the 
same  yearly  rent.  Therefore  if  these  twelve 
millions  newly  gained  shall  reduce  one  per  cent, 
of  the  present  interest  of  money,  they  must  of 
necessity  increase  every  estate  at  least  four 
years’  value  in  the  purchase. 

It  is  ever  easier  to  meet  with  men  that  will 
borrow  money  than  sell  their  estates.  An  evi- 
dence of  this  is,  that  we  never  have  so  good  a 
revenue  by  buying,  as  by  lending.  The  first 
thing  therefore  that  will  be  attempted  with 
these  twelve  millions,  is  to  lend  money  to  those 
that  want  it.  This  can  hardly  fail  of  reducing 
one  per  cent,  of  the  present  interest  of  money, 
and  consequently  of  raising  every  estate  four 
years’  value  in  the  purchase. 

For  in  all  probability  all  the  money  or  value 
now  in  England,  not  applied  to  any  of  the  uses 
above-mentioned,  and  which  therefore  lies  dead 
or  affords  no  revenue  to  the  owners,  until  it  can 
be  disposed  of  to  such  uses,  does  not  exceed 
twelve  millions ; yet  this  sum,  whatever  it  is,  is 
sufficient  to  keep  down  money  to  the  present 
interest,  and  to  hold  up  lands  to  their  present 
value.  One  would  imagine  then,  if  this  sum 
should  be  doubled,  if  twelve  millions  extraordi- 
nary should  be  added  to  it,  they  should  reduce 
half  the  present  interest  of  money,  and  double 
the  present  value  of  estates.  But  it  will  easily 
be  allowed  they  must  reduce  one  per  cent,  of 
the  present  interest  of  money,  and  add  the 
value  of  four  years’  rent  to  the  purchase  of 
every  estate. 

To  confirm  the  belief  of  this,  an  argument 
might  be  taken  from  what  really  happened  in 
the  province  of  Holland  before  the  year  one 
thousand  six  hundred  and  seventy.  I think  it  is 
in  sir  William  Temple’s  Observations  upon 
the  United  Netherlands.  The  government  there 
was  indebted  about  thirteen  millions,  and  paid 
the  interest  of  five  per  cent,  per  annum.  They 
had  got  a sum  of  money,  I think  not  above  a 
million,  with  which  they  prepared  to  discharge 
such  a part  of  the  principal.  The  creditors 
were  so  unable  to  find  so  good  an  interest  else- 
where, that  they  petitioned  the  States  to  keep 
their  money,  with  an  abatement  of  one  per  cent, 
of  their  interest.  The  same  money  was  offered 
to  the  same  number  of  other  creditors  with  the 
same  success,  until  one  per  cent,  of  their  whole 
interest  was  abated,  yet  at  last  such  a part  of 
the  principal  was  discharged.  And  when  this 


No.  77.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


113 


sum  came  to  be  lent  to  private  persons,  it  had 
the  same  effect;  there  one  per  cent,  of  the  com- 
mon interest  was  abated  throughout  the  whole 
province,  as  well  between  subject  and  subject, 
as  between  the  subjects  and  their  governors. 
And  nothing  is  so  notorious,  as  that  the  value 
oflands  in  that  country  has  risen  in  proportion, 
and  that  estates  are  sold  there  for  thirty  years’ 
value  of  their  whole  rents.  It  is  not  then  to  be 
doubted  that  twelve  millions  extraordinary  to 
be  lent  at  interest,  or  purchase  lands,  or  govern- 
ment securities,  must  have  the  like  effect  in 
England,  at  least  that  lands  will  rise  four 
years’  rent  in  every  purchase  above  their  present 
value.  And  how  great  an  improvement  must 
this  be  of  the  landed  interest  7 

The  rents  of  England,  according  to  the  pro- 
portion of  the  land-tax,  should  be  little  more 
than  eight  millions,  yet  perhaps  they  may  be 
twelve.  If  there  is  made  an  addition  of  four 
years’  value  in  every  purchase,  this,  upon  all 
the  rents  of  England,  amounts  to  forty-eight 
millions.  So  that,  by  the  importation  and  clear 
gain  of  twenty  millions  by  trade,  the  landed  in- 
terest gains  an  improvement  of  forty-eight 
millions,  at  least  six  times  as  much  as  all  other 
interests  joined  together. 

I should  think  this  argument,  which  I have 
endeavoured  to  set  in  a clear  light,  must  needs 
be  sufficient  to  show,  that  the  landed  and  the 
trading  interests  cannot  in  reality  but  be  friends 
to  each  other. 


No.  77.]  Tuesday,  June  9,  1713. 

Certain  voto  pete  finem. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  ii.  56. 

To  wishes  fix  an  end.  Creech. 

The  writers  of  morality  assign  two  sorts  of 
goods,  the  one  is  in  itself  desirable,  the  other  irf 
to  be  desired,  not  on  account  of  its  own  excel- 
lency, but  for  the  sake  of  some  other  ffiing 
which  it  is  instrumental  to  obtain.  These  are 
usually  distinguished  by  the  appellations  of  end 
and  means.  We  are  prompted  by  nature  to 
desire  the  former,  but  that  we  have  any  ap- 
petite for  the  latter  is  owing  to  choice  and  de- 
liberation. 

But  as  wise  men  engage  m the  pursuit  of 
means,  from  a farther  view  of  some  natural 
good  with  which  they  are  connected;  fools,  who  are 
actuated  by  imitation  and  not  by  reason,  blindly 
pursue  the  means,  i»ithout  any  design  or  pros- 
pect  of  applying  them.  The  result  whereof  is, 
that  they  entsd  upon  themselves  the  anxiety 
and  toil,  but  are  debarred  from  the  subsequerit 
delights  which  arise  to  wiser  men ; since  their 
views  not  reaching  the  end,  terminate  in  those 
things,  which  although  they  have  a relative 
goodness,  yet,  considered  absolutely,  are  indiffer- 
ent, or,  it  may  be,  evil. 

The  principle  of  this  misconduct  is  a certain 
shortsightedness  in  the  mind  : and  as  this  de- 
fect is  branched  forth  into  innumerable  errors 
in  life,  and  hath  infected  all  ranks  and  condi- 
tions of  men  ; so  it  more  eminently  appears  in 
three  species,  the  critics,  misers,  and  free- 
thinkers. I shall  endeavour  to  make  good  this 
P 


observation  with  regard  to  each  of  them  : And 
first  of  the  critic. 

Profit  and  pleasure  are  the  ends  that  a rea- 
sonable creature  would  propose  to  obtain  by 
study,  or  indeed  by  any  other  undertaking. 
Those  parts  of  learning  which  relate  to  the  ima- 
gination, as  eloquence  and  poetry,  produce  an 
immediate  pleasure  in  the  mind.  And  sublime 
and  useful  truths,  when  they  are  conveyed  in 
apt  allegories  or  beautiful  images,  make  more 
distinct  and  lasting  impressions  ; by  which 
means  the  fancy  becomes  subservient  to  the  un- 
derstanding, and  the  mind  is  at  the  same  time 
delighted  and  instructed.  The  exercise  of  the 
understanding  in  the  discovery  of  truth,  is  like- 
wise attended  with  great  pleasure,  as  well  as 
immediate  profit.  It  not  only  strengthens  our 
faculties,  purifies  the  soul,  subdues  the  passions ; 
but  besides  these  advantages,  there  is  also  a se- 
cret joy  that  flows  from  intellectual  operations, 
proportioned  to  the  nobleness  of  the  faculty, 
and  not  the  less  affecting  because  inward  and 
unseen. 

But  the  mere  exercise  of  the  memory  as  such., 
instead  of  bringing  pleasure  or  immediate  be- 
nefit, is  a thing  of  vain  irksomeness  and  fatigue, 
especially  w'hen  employed  in  the  acquisition  of 
languages,  which  is  of  all  others  the  most  dry 
and  painful  occupation.  There  must  be  there- 
fore something  further  proposed,  or  a wise  man 
would  never  engage  in  it.  And,  indeed,  the 
very  reason  of  the  thing  plainly  intimates  that 
the  motive  which  first  drew  men  to  affect  a 
know’ledge  in  dead  tongues,  was  that  they 
looked  on  them  as  means  to  convey  more  useful 
and  entertaining  knowledge  into  their  minds. 

There  are,  nevertheless,  certain  critics,  who, 
seeing  that  Greek  and  Latin  are  in  request,  join 
ir  a thoughtless  pursuit  of  those  languages, 
without  any  further  view.  They  look  on  the 
ancient  authors,  but  it  is  with  an  eye  to  phrase, 
ology,  or  certain  minute  particulars  which  are 
valuable  for  no  other  reason  but  because  they 
are  despised  and  forgotten  by  the  rest  of  man- 
kind.  The  divine  maxims  of  morality,  the  exact 
pictures  of  human  life,  the  profound  discoveries 
in  the  arts  and  sciences,  just  thoughts,  bright 
images,  sublime  sentiments,  are  overlooked, 
while  the  mind  is  learnedly  taken  up  in  verbal 
remarks. 

Was  a critic  ever  known  to  read  Plato  with 
a contemplative  mind,  or  Cicero,  in  order  to 
imbibe  the  noble  sentiments  of  virtue  and  a 
public  spirit,  which  are  conspicuous  in  the 
writings  of  that  great  man  ; or  to  peruse  the 
Greek  or  Roman  historians,  with  an  intention 
to  form  his  own  life  upon  the  plan  of  the  illus- 
trious  patterns  they  exhibit  to  our  view  ? Plato 
wwote  in  Greek.  Cicero’s  Latin  is  fine.  And 
it  often  lies  in  a man’s  way  to  quote  the  ancient 
historians. 

There  is  no  entertainment  upon  earth  more 
noble  and  befitting  a reasonable  mind,  than  the 
perusal  of  good  authors  ; or  that  better  qualifies 
a man  to  pass  his  life  with  satisfaction  to  him- 
self, or  advantage  to  the  public.  But  where 
men  of  short  views  and  mean  souls  give  them- 
selves to  that  sort  of  employment  which  nature 
never  designed  them  for,  they  indeed  keep  one 
another  in  countenance ; but  instead  of  culti- 
10* 


m 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  78. 


vating  and  adorning  their  own  minds,  or  ac- 
quiring an  ability  to  be  useful  to  the  world,  they 
reap  no  other  advantage  from  their  labours,  than 
the  dry  consolation  arising  from  the  applauses 
they  bestow  upon  each  other. 

And  the  same  weakness,  or  defect  of  the  mind 
from  whence  pedantry  takes  its  rise,  does  like- 
wise give  birth  to  avariee.  Words  and  money 
are  both  to  be  regarded  as  only  marks  of  things ; 
and  as  the  knowledge  of  the  one,  so  the  posses- 
sion of  the  other  is  of  no  use,  unless  directed 
to  a further  end.  A mutual  eonimerce  could 
not  be  carried  on  among  men,  if  some  common' 
standard  had  not  been  agreed  upon,  to  which 
the  value  of  all  the  various  products  of  art  and 
nature  were  reducible,  and  which  might  be  of 
the  same  use  in  the  conveyance  of  property,  as 
words  are  in  that  of  ideas.  Gold,  by  its  beauty, 
scarceness,  and  durable  nature,  seems  designed 
by  Providence  to  a purpose  so  excellent  and  ad- 
vantageous to  mankind.  Upon  these  consider- 
ations that  metal  came  first  into  esteem.  But 
sueh  who  cannot  see  beyond  what  is  nearest  in 
the  pursuit,  beholding  mankind  touched  with 
an  affection  for  gold,  and  being  ignorant  of  the 
true  reason  that  introduced  this  odd  passion  into 
human  nature,  imagine  some  intrinsic  worth  in 
the  metal  to  be  the  cause  of  it.  Hence,  the 
same  men  who,  had  they  been  turned  towards 
learning,  would  have  employed  themselves  in 
laying  up  words  in  their  memory,  are,  by  a dif- 
ferent application  employed  to  as  much  purpose, 
in  treasuring  up  gold  in  their  coffers.  They  dif- 
fer only  in  the  object ; the  principle  on  which 
they  act,  and  the  inward  frame  of  mind,  is  the 
same  in  the  critic  and  the  miser. 

And  upon  a thorough  observation,  our  modern 
sect  of  free-thinkers  will  be  found  to  labour 'an- 
der  the  same  defect  with  those  two  inglorious 
species.  Their  short  views  are  terminated  in 
the  next  objects,  and  their  specious  pretences 
for  liberty  and  truth,  are  so  many  instances  of 
mistaking  the  means  for  the  end.  But  the  set- 
ting these  points  in  a clear  light,  must  be  the 
subject  of  another  paper. 


No.  78.]  Wednesday,  June  10,  1713. 

Docebo 

Unde  parenlur  opes  ; quid  alat,  formetque  poetam. 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  306. 

1 will  teach  to  write, 

Tell  what  the  duty  of  a poet  is, 

Wherein  his  wealth  and  ornament  consist, 

And  how  he  may  be  form’d,  and  how  improv’d. 

Roscommon. 

It  is  no  small  pleasure  to  me,  who  am  zeal- 
ous in  the  interests  of  learning,  to  think  I may 
have  the  honour  of  leading  the  town  into  a very 
new  and  uncommon  road  of  criticism.  As  that 
kind  of  literature  is  at  present  carried  on,  it 
consists  only  in  a knowledge  of  mechanic  rules 
which  contribute  to  the  structure  of  different 
sorts  of  poetry  ; as  the  receipts  of  good  house- 
wives do  to  the  making  puddings  of  flour, 
oranges,  plums,  or  any  other  ingredients.  It 
would,  methinks,  make  these  my  instructions 
more  easily  intelligible  to  ordinary  readers,  if  I 
discoursed  of  these  matters  in  the  style  in  which 


ladies  learned  in  economics,  dictate  to  their 
pupils  for  the  improvement  of  the  kitchen  and 
larder. 

I shall  begin  with  epic  poetry,  because  the 
critics  agree  it  is  the  greatest  work  human  na- 
ture is  capable  of.  I know  the  French  have 
already  laid  down  many  mechanical  rules  for 
compositions  of  this  sort,  but  at  the  same  time 
they  cut  off  almost  all  undertakers  from  the  pos- 
sibility of  ever  performing  them  ; for  the  first 
qualification  they  unanimously  require  in  a poet, 
is  a genius.  I shall  here  endeavour  (for  the 
benefit  of  my  countrymen)  to  make  it  manifest, 
that  epic  poems  may  be  made  ‘ without  a genius,’ 
nay,  without  learning,  or  much  reading.  This 
must  necessarily  be  of  great  use  to  all  those 
poets  who  confess  they  never  read,  and  of  whom 
the  world  is  convinced  they  never  learn.  What 
Moliere  observes  of  making  a dinner,  that  any 
man  can  do  it  w'ith  money,  and  if  a professed 
cook  cannot  without,  he  has  his  art  for  nothing; 
the  same  may  be  said  of  making  a poem,  it  is 
easily  brought  about  by  him  that  has  a genius, 
but  the  skill  lies  in  doing  it  without  one.  In 
pursuance  of  this  end,  I shall  present  the  read- 
er with  a plain  and  certain  recipe,  by  whieh 
even  sonnetteers  and  ladies  may  be  qualified  for 
this  grand  performance. 

I know  it  w’ill  be  objected,  that  one  of  the 
chief  qualifications  of  an  epic  poet,  is  to  be 
knowing  in  all  arts  and  sciences.  But  this 
ought  not  to  discourage  those  that  have  no 
learning,  as  long  as  indexes  and  dictionaries 
may  be  had,  which  are  the  compendium  of  all 
knowledge.  Besides,  since  it  is  an  established 
rule,  that  none  of  the  terms  of  those  arts  and 
sciences  are  to  be  made  use  of,  one  may  venture 
to  affirm,  our  poet  cannot  impertinently  offend 
in  this  point.  The  learning  which  will  be  more 
particularly  necessary  to  him,  is  the  ancient 
geography  of  towns,  mountains,  and  rivers  : 
for  this  let  him  take  Cluverius,  value  four-pence. 

Another  quality  required  is  a complete  skill 
in  lariguages.  To  this  I answer,  that  it  is  noto- 
rious persons  of  no  genius  have  been  often- 
times great  linguists.  To  instance  in  the  Greek, 
of  which  there  are  two  sorts ; the  original 
Greek,  and  that  from  which  our  modern  authors 
translate.  I should  be  unwilling  to  promise 
impossibilities,  bat  modestly  speaking,  this  may 
be  learned  in  about  an  hour’s  time  with  ease.  I 
have  known  one,  wha  became  a sudden  profes- 
sor of  Greek,  immediately  upon  application  of 
the  left-hand  page  of  the  Cambridge  Homer  to 
his  eye.  It  is  in  these  da-js  with  authors  as 
with  other  men,  the  well-bred  ate  familiarly  ac- 
quainted with  them  at  first  sight ; and  as  it  is 
sufficient  for  a good  general  to  hava  surveyed 
the  ground  he  is  to  conquer,  so  it  is  enough  for 
a good  poet  to  have  seen  the  author  he  is  to  be 
master  of.  But  to  proceed  to  the  purpose  of 
this  paper. 

A Receipt  to  make  an  Epic  Poem. 

FOR  THE  FABLE. 

‘ Take  out  of  any  old  poem,  history,  book,  ro- 
mance, or  legend,  (for  instance,  Geoffry  of 
Monmouth,  or  don  Belianis  of  Greece)  those 
parts  of  story  which  afford  most  scope  for  long 


No.  79.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


115 


descriptions.  Put  these  pieces  together,  and 
throw  all  the  adventures  you  fancy  into  one 
tale.  Then  take  a hero  whom  you  may  choose 
for  the  sound  of  his  name,  and  put  him  into  the 
midst  of  these  adventures.  There  let  him  work 
for  twelve  books ; at  the  end  of  which  you  may 
take  him  out  ready  prepared  to  conquer,  or  to 
marry ; it  being  necessary  that  the  conclusion 
of  an  epic  poem  be  fortunate.’ 

To  make  an  Episode. — ‘ Take  any  remaining 
adventure  of  your  former  collection,  in  which 
you  could  no  way  involve  your  hero;  or  any 
unfortunate  accident  that  was  too  good  to  be 
thrown  away ; and  it  will  be  of  use  applied  to 
any  other  person,  who  may  be  lost  and  evapo- 
rate in  the  course  of  the  work,  without  the  least 
damage  to  the  composition.’ 

For  the  Moral  and  Allegory. — ‘ These  you 
may  extract  out  of  the  fable  afterwards,  at  your 
leisure.  Be  sure  you  strain  them  sufficiently.’ 

FOR  THE  MANNERS. 

‘ For  those  of  the  hero,  take  all  the  best  quali- 
ties you  can  find  in  all  the  celebrated  heroes  of 
antiquity;  if  they  will  not  be  reduced  to  a con- 
sistency, lay  them  all  on  a heap  upon  him.  But 
be  sure  they  are  qualities  which  your  patron 
would  be  thought  to  have : and,  to  prevent  any 
mistake  which  the  w’orld  may  be  subject  to,  se- 
lect from  the  alphabet  those  capital  letters  that 
compose  his  name,  and  set  them  at  the  head  of 
a dedication  before  your  poem.  However,  do 
not  absolutely  observe  the  exact  quantity  of 
these  virtues,  it  not  being  determined,  whether 
or  no  it  be  necessary  for  the  hero  of  a poem  to 
be  an  honest  man. — For  the  under  characters, 
gather  them  from  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  change 
the  names  as  occasion  serves.’ 

FOR  THE  MACHINES. 

‘Take  of- deities,  male  and  female,  as  many 
as  you  can  use.  Separate  them  into  two  equal 
parts,  and  keep  Jupiter  in  the  middle.  Let 
Juno  put  him  in  a ferment,  and  Venus  mollify 
him.  Remember  on  all  occasions  to  make  use 
of  volatile  Mercury.  If  you  have  need  of  devils, 
draw  them  out  of  Milton’s  Paradise,  and  extract 
your  spirits  from  Tasso.  The  use  of  these  ma- 
chines is  evident ; for  since  no  epic  poem  can 
possibly  subsist  without  them,  the  wisest  way 
is  to  reserve  them  for  your  greatest  necessities. 
When  you  cannot  extricate  your  hero  by  any 
human  means,  or  yourself  by  your  own  wits, 
seek  relief  from  heaven,  and  the  gods  will  do 
your  business  very  readily.  This  is  according 
to  the  direct  prescription  of  Horace  in  his  Art 
of  Poetry  : 

Nec  deus  intersit,  nisi  dignus  vindice  Nodus 
Inciderit ver.  191. 

Never  presume  to  make  a god  appear, 

But  for  a business  worthy  of  a god.  Roscommon. 

‘ That  is  to  say,  a poet  should  never  call  upon 
the  gods  for  their  assistance,  but  when  he  is  in 
great  perplexity.’ 

FOR  THE  DESCRIPTIONS. 

For  a Tempest. — ‘ Take  Eurus,  Zephyr,  Aus- 
ter,  and  Boreas,  and  cast  them  together  in  one 


verse.  Add  to  these  of  rain,  lightning,  and  of 
thunder  (the  loudest  you  can)  quantum  sujjicit. 
Mix  your  clouds  and  billows  well  together  until 
they  foam,  and  thicken  your  descriptio  i here 
and  there  with  a quicksand.  Brew  your  tem- 
pest well  in  your  head,  before  you  set  it  a blow- 
ing.’ 

For  a Battle. — ‘ Pick  a large  quantity  of 
images  and  descriptions  from  Homer’s  Iliads, 
with  a spice  or  two  of  Virgil,  and  if  there  re- 
main any  overplus  you  may  lay  them  by  for  a 
skirmish.  Season  it  well  with  similes,  and  it 
will  make  an  excellent  battle.’ 

For  burning  a Town. — ‘ If  such  a description 
be  necessary,  because  it  is  certain  there  is  one 
in  Virgil,  old  Troy  is  ready  burnt  to  your  hands. 
But  if  you  fear  that  would  be  thought  borrowed, 
a chapter  or  two  of  the  Theory  of  the  Confla- 
gration, well  circumstanced,  and  done  into  verse, 
will  be  a good  succedaneum.’ 

As  for  Similes  and  Metaphors,  they  may  be 
found  all  over  t!ie  creation ; the  most  ignorant 
may  gather  them,  but  the  danger  is  in  applying 
them.  For  this  advise  with  your  bookseller. 

FOR  THE  LANGUAGE. 

(I  mean  the  diction.)  ‘ Here  it  will  do  well 
to  be  an  imitator  of  Milton,  for  you  will  find  it 
easier  to  imitate  him  in  this,  than  any  thing 
else.  Hebraisms  and  Grecisms  are  to  be  found 
in  him,  without  the  trouble  of  learning  the  lan- 
guages. I knew  a painter,  who  (like  our  poet) 
had  no  genius,  make  his  daubings  to  be  thought 
originals  by  setting  them  in  the  smoke.  You 
may  in  the  same  manner  give  the  venerable  air 
of  antiquity  to  your  piece,  by  darkening  it  up 
and  down  with  old  English.  With  this  you  may 
be  easily  furnished  upon  any  occasion,  by  the 
dictionary  commonly  printed  at  the  end  of 
Chaucer.’ 

I must  not  conclude,  without  cautioning  all 
writers  without  genius  in  one  material  point, 
which  is,  never  to  be  afraid  of  having  too  much 
fire  in  their  works.  I should  advise  rather  to 
take  their  warmest  thoughts,  and  spread  them 
abroad  upon  paper ; for  they  are  observed  to 
cool  before  they  are  read. 


No.  79.]  Thursday,  June  11,  1713. 

Praeclara  et  pulchra  ininantem 

Vivere  nec  recte,  nec  suaviter 

Hor  Lib.  1.  Ep.  viii.  3. 

I make  a noise,  a gaudy  show, 

I promise  mighty  things,  I nobly  strive ; 

Yet  what  an  ill,  unpleasant  life  I live!  Creech. 

It  is  an  employment  worthy  a reasonable 
creature,  to  examine  into  the  disposition  of 
men’s  affections  towards  each  other,  and  as  far 
as  one  can,  to  improve  all  tendencies  to  good 
nature  and  charity.  No  one  could  be  unmoved 
with  this  epistle,  which  I received  the  other  day 
from  one  of  my  correspondents,  and  which  is 
full  of  the  most  ardent  benevolence. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir,— I seldom  read  your  political,  your  cri- 
tical, your  ludicrous,  or  if  you  will  call  them  so, 


116 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


your  polite  papers,  but  when  I observe  any  thing 
which  I think  written  for  the  advancement  of 
good-will  amongst  men,  and  laying  before  them 
objects  of  charity,  I am  very  zealous  for  the 
promotion  of  so  honest  a design.  Believe  me, 
sir,  want  of  wit  or  wisdom,  is  not  the  infirmity 
of  this  age ; it  is  the  shameful  application  of 
both  that  is  the  crying  evil.  As  for  my  own 
part,  I am  always  endeavouring  at  least  to  be 
better,  rather  than  richer  or  wiser.  But  I never 
lamented  that  I was  not  a wealthy  man  so  hear- 
tily as  the  other  day.  You  must  understand 
that  I now  and  then  take  a walk  of  mortifica- 
tion, and  pass  a whole  day  in  making  myself 
profitably  sad.  I for  this  end  visit  the  hospitals 
about  this  city,  and  when  I have  rambled  about 
the  galleries  at  Bedlam,  and  seen  for  an  hour 
the  utmost  of  all  lamentable  objects,  human 
reason  distracted ; when  I have  from  grate  to 
grate  offered  up  my  prayers  for  a wretch  who 
has  been  reviling  me,  for  a figure  that  has  seem- 
ed petrified  with  anguish,  for  a man  that  has 
held  up  his  face  in  a posture  of  adoration  to- 
ward heaven  to  utter  execrations  and  blasphe- 
mies; I say,  when  I have  beheld  all  these  things, 
and  thoroughly  reflected  on  them,  until  I have 
startled  myself  out  of  my  present  ill  course,  I 
have  thought  fit  to  pass  to  the  observation  of 
less  evils,  and  relieve  myself  by  going  to  those 
charitable  receptacles  about  this  town,  appoint- 
ed only  for  bodily  distresses.  The  gay  and  fro- 
lic part  of  mankind  are  wholly  unacquainted 
with  the  numbers  of  their  fellow-creatures  who 
languish  under  pain  and  agony,  for  want  of  a 
trifle  out  of  that  expense  by  which  those  fortu- 
nate persons  purchase  the  gratification  of  a su- 
perfluous passion  or  appetite.  I ended  the  last 
of  these  pilgrimages  which  I made,  at  St.  Tho- 
mas’s hospital  in  Southwark.  I had  seen  all  the 
variety  of  woe  which  can  arise  from  the  distem- 
pers which  attend  human  frailty ; but  the  cir- 
cumstance which  occasioned  this  letter,  and 
gave  me  the  quickest  compassion,  was  behold- 
ing a little  boy  of  ten  years  of  age,  who  was 
just  then  to  be  expelled  the  house  as  incurable. 
My  heart  melted  within  me  to  think  what  would 
become  of  the  poor  child,  who,  as  I was  inform- 
ed, had  not  a farthing  in  the  world,  nor  father, 
ner  mother,  nor  friend  to  help  it.  The  infant 
saw  my  sorrow  for  it,  and  came  towards  me, 
and  bid  me  speak,  that  it  might  die  in  the  house. 

‘ Alas  ! there  are  crowds  cured  in  this  place, 
and  the  strictest  care  taken,  in  the  distribution 
of  the  charity,  for  wholesome  food,  good  physic, 
and  tender  care  in  behalf  of  the  patients ; but 
the  provision  is  not  large  enough  for  those 
whom  they  do  not  despair  of  recovering,  which 
makes  it  necessary  to  turn  out  the  incurable, 
for  the  sake  of  those  whom  they  can  relieve.  I 
was  informed  this  was  the  fate,  of  many  in  a 
year,  as  well  as  of  this  poor  child,  who  I sup- 
pose, corrupted  away  yet  alive  in  the  streets. 
He  was  to  be  sure  removed  when  he  was  only 
capable  of  giving  offence,  though  avoided  when 
still  an  object  of  compassion.  There  are  not 
words  to  give  mankind  compunction  enough 
on  such  an  occasion;  but  I assure  you  I think 
the  miserable  have  a property  in  the  superflu- 
ous possessions  of  the  fortunate ; though  I de- 
spair of  seeing  right  done  them  until  the  day 


[No.  79. 

wherein  those  distinctions  shall  cease  for  ever, 
and  they  must  both  give  an  account  for  their 
behaviour  under  their  respective  sufferings  and 
enjoyments.  However,  you  would  do  your  part 
as  a guardian,  if  you  would  mention,  in  the 
most  pathetic  terms,  these  miserable  objects, 
and  put  the  good  part  of  the  world  in  mind  of 
exerting  the  most  noble  benevolence  that  can 
be  imagined,  in  alleviating  the  few  remaining 
moments  of  the  incurable. 

‘ A gentleman  who  belonged  to  the  hospital, 
was  saying,  he  believed  it  would  be  done  as 
soon  as  mentioned,  if  it  w^ere  proposed  that  a 
ward  might  be  erected  for  the  accommodation 
of  such  as  have  no  more  to  do  in  this  world,  but 
resign  themselves  to  death.  I know  no  readier 
way  of  communicating  this  thought  to  the 
world,  than  by  your  paper.  If  you  omit  to  pub- 
lish this,  I shall  never  esteem  you  to  be  the  man 
you  pretend;  and  so  recommending  the  incura- 
ble to  your  guardianship,  I remain,  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

‘ PHILANTHROPOS.’ 

It  must  be  confessed,  that  if  one  turns  one’s 
eyes  round  these  cities  of  London  and  West- 
minster, one  cannot  overlook  the  exemplary  in- 
stances of  heroic  charily,  in  providing  restraints 
for  the  wicked,  instructions  for  the  young,  food 
and  raiment  for  the  aged,  with  regard  also  to 
all  other  circumstances  and  relations  of  human 
life ; but  it  is  to  be  lamented  that  these  provi- 
sions are  made  only  by  the  middle  kind  of  peo- 
ple, while  those  of  fashion  and  power  are  raised 
above  the  species  itself,  and  are  unacquainted 
or  unmoved  with  the  calamities  of  others.  But, 
alas ! how  monstrous  is  this  hardness  of  heart ! 
How  is  it  possible  that  the  returns  of  hunger 
and  thirst  should  not  importune  men,  though  in 
the  highest  affluence,  to  consider  the  miseries 
of  their  fellow-creatures  who  languish  under 
necessity.  But  as  I hinted  just  now,  the  dis- 
tinctions of  mankind  are  almost  wholly  to  be 
resolved  into  those  of  the  rich  and  the  poor ; for 
as  certainly  as  wealth  gives  acceptance  and 
grace  to  all  that  its  possessor  says  or  does ; so 
poverty  creates  disesteem,  scorn,  and  prejudice, 
to  all  the  undertakings  of  the  indigent.  The 
necessitous  man  has  neither  hands,  lips,  or  un- 
derstanding, for  his  own  or  friend’s  use,  but  is 
in  the  same  condition  with  the  sick,  with  this 
difference  only,  that  his  is  an  infection  no  man 
will  relieve  or  assist,  or  if  he  does,  it  is  seldom 
with  so  much  pity  as  contempt,  and  rather  for 
the  ostentation  of  the  physician,  than  compas- 
sion  on  the  patient.  It  is  a circumstance, 
wherein  a man  finds  all  the  good  he  deserves 
inaccessible,  all  the  ill  unavoidable;  and  the 
poor  hero  is  as  certainly  ragged,  as  the  poor  vil- 
lain  hanged.  Under  these  pressures  the  poor 
man  speaks  with  hesitation,  undertakes  with 
irresolution,  and  acts  with  disappointment.  He 
is  slighted  in  men’s  conversations,  overlooked 
in  their  assemblies,  and  beaten  at  their  doors. 
But  from  whence,  alas ! has  he  this  treatment? 
from  a creature  that  has  only  the  supply  of,  but 
not  an  exemption  from,  the  wants,  for  w^hich  he 
despises  him.  Yet  such  is  the  unaccountable 
insolence  of  man,  that  he  will  not  see  that  he 
who  is  supported,  is  in  the  same  class  of  natural 


No.  80.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


117 


necessity  with  him  tliat  wants  a support ; and 
to  be  helped  implies  to  be  indigent.  In  a 
word,  after  all  you  can  say  of  a man,  conclude 
that  he  is  rich,  and  you  have  made  him  friends  ; 
nor  have  you  utterly  overthrown  a man  in  the 
world’s  opinion,  until  you  have  said  he  is  poor. 
This  is  the  emphatical  expression  of  praise  and 
blame ; for  men  so  stupidly  forget  their  natural 
impotence  and  want,  that  riches  and  poverty 
have  taken  in  our  imagination  the  place  of  in- 
nocence and  guilt. 

Reflections  of  this  kind  do  but  waste  one’s 
being,  without  capacity  of  helping  the  dis- 
tressed ; yet  though  I know  no  way  to  do  any 
service  to  my  brethren  under  such  calamities, 
I cannot  help  having  so  much  respect  for  them, 
as  to  suffer  with  them  in  a fruitless  fellow- 
feeling. 


No.  80.]  Friday,  June  12,  1713. 

Coelestibus  Irae.  Virg.  ^n.  i.  11. 

Anger  in  heav’niy  minds. 

I HAVE  found,  by  experience,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  talk  distinctly  without  defining  the 
words  of  which  we  make  use.  There  is  not  a 
term  in  our  language  which  wants  explanation 
so  much  as  the  word  Church.  One  would  think 
when  people  utter  it,  they  should  have  in  their 
minds  ideas  of  virtue  and  religion  ; but  that  im- 
portant monosyllable  drags  all  the  other  words 
in  the  language  after  it,  and  it  is  made  use  of 
to  express  both  praise  and  blame,  according  to 
the  character  of  him  who  speaks  it.  By  this 
means  it  happens,  that  no  one  knows  what  his 
neighbour  means  when  he  says  such  a one  is 
for  or  against  the  church.  It  has  happened  that 
the  person,  who  is  seen  every  day  at  church, 
has  not  been  in  the  eye  of  the  world  a church- 
man ; and  he  who  is  very  zealous  to  oblige  every 
man  to  frequent  it,  but  himself,  has  been  held  a 
very  good  son  of  the  church.  This  preposses- 
sion is  the  best  handle  imaginable  for  politicians 
to  make  use  of,  for  managing  the  loves  and 
hatreds  of  mankind,  to  the  purposes  to  which 
they  would  lead  them.  But  this  is  not  a thing 
for  fools  to  meddle  with,  for  they  only  bring 
disesteem  upon  those  whom  they  attempt  to 
serve,  when  they  unskilfully  pronounce  terms 
of  art.  I have  observed  great  evils  arise  from 
this  practice,  and  not  only  the  cause  of  piety, 
but  also  the  secular  interest  of  clergymen,  has 
extremely  suffered  by  the  general  unexplained 
signification  of  the  word  Church. 

The  Examiner,  upon  the  strength  of  being 
a received  church-man,  has  offended  in  this 
particular  more  grossly  than  any  other  man 
ever  did  before,  and  almost  as  grossly  as  ever 
he  himself  did,  supposing  the  allegations  in  the 
following  letter  are  just.  To  slander  any  man 
is  a very  heinous  offence ; but  the  crime  is  still 
greater,  when  it  falls  upon  such  as  ought  to 
give  example  to  others.  I cannot  imagine 
how  the  Examiner  can  divest  any  part  of  the 
clergy  of  the  respect  due  to  their  characters,  so 
as  to  treat  them  as  he  does,  without  an  indul- 
gence unknown  to  our  religion,  though  taken 


up  in  the  name  of  it,  in  order  to  disparage  such 
of  its  communicants  as  will  not  sacrifice  their 
conscience  to  their  fortunes.  This  confusion 
and  subdivision  of  interests  and  sentiments 
among  people  of  the  same  communion,  is  what 
would  be  a very  good  subject  of  mirth  ; but 
when  I consider  against  whom  this  insult  is 
committed,  I think  it  too  great,  and  of  too  ill  a 
consequence,  to  be  in  good  humour  on  the  oc- 
casion. 

‘June  9,  1713. 

‘Sir, — Your  character  of  universal  Guar- 
dian, joined  to  the  concern  you  ought  to  have 
for  the  cause  of  virtue  and  religion,  assure  me 
you  will  not  think  that  clergymen  when  injured, 
have  the  least  right  to  your  protection ; and  it 
is  from  that  assurance  I trouble  you  with  this, 
to  complain  of  the  Examiner,  who  calumniates 
as  freely  as  he  commends,  and  whose  invectives 
are  as  groundless  as  his  panegyrics. 

‘ In  his  paper  of  the  eighth  instant,  after  a 
most  furious  invective  against  many  noble  lords, 
a considerable  number  of  the  commons,  and  a 
very  great  part  of  her  majesty’s  good  subjects, 
as  disaffected  and  full  of  discontent,  (which,  by 
the  way,  is  but  an  awkward  compliment  to  the 
queen,  whose  greatest  glory  it  is  to  reign  in  the 
hearts  of  her  people,)  that  the  clergy  may  not 
go  without  their  share  of  his  resentment,  he 
concludes  with  a most  malicious  reflection  upon 
some  of  them.  He  names  indeed  nobody,  but 
points  to  Windsor  and  St.  Paul’s,  where  he  tells 
us  some  are  disrespectful  to  the  queen,  and  ene- 
mies to  her  peace ; most  odious  characters,  es- 
pecially in  clergymen,  whose  profession  is 
peace,  and  to  whose  duty  and  affection  her  ma- 
jesty has  a more  immediate  right,  by  her  sin- 
gular piety  and  great  goodness  to  them.  “ They 
have  sucked  in,”  he  says,  “ this  war-like  prin- 
ciple from  their  arbitrary  patrons.”  It  is  not 
enough,  it  seems,  to  calumniate  them,  unless 
their  patrons  also  be  insulted,  no  less  patrons 
than  the  late  king  and  the  duke  of  Marlborough. 
These  are  his  arbitrary  men ; though  nothing 
be  more  certain  than  that  without  the  king,  the 
shadow  of  a legal  government  had  not  been  left 
to  us  ; nor  did  there  ever  live  a man,  who  in  the 
nature  and  temper  of  him,  less  deserved  the 
character  of  arbitrary  than  the  duke.  How  now 
is  this  terrible  charge  against  those  clergymen 
supported?  Why, as  to  St.  Paul’s,  the  fact,  ac- 
cording  to  him,  is  this  : “ Some  of  the  church, 
to  affront  the  queen,  on  the  day  the  peace  was 
proclaimed,  gave  orders  for  parochial  prayers 
only,  without  singing,  as  is  used  upon  fast-days, 
though  in  this  particular  their  inferiors  were  so 
very  honest  to  disobey  them.”  This  the  Exa- 
miner roundly  affirms,  after  his  usual  manner, 
but  without  the  least  regard  to  truth  ; for  it  is 
fallen  in  my  way,  without  inquiring,  to  be  e.x- 
actly  informed  of  this  matter,  and  therefore,  I 
take  upon  me  in  their  vindication  to  assure  you, 
that  every  part  of  what  is  said  is  absolutely 
false,  and  the  truth  is  just  the  reverse.  The 
inferiors  desired  there  might  be  only  parochial 
prayers ; but  the  person  applied  to  was  aware 
to  what  construction  it  might  be  liable,  and 
therefore  would  not  consent  to  the  request, 
though  very  innocent  and  reasonable.  The  case 
was  this : the  procession  of  the  ceremony  had 


118 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


reached  Ludgate  just  at  the  time  of  prayers, 
and  there  was  such  a prodigious  concourse  of 
people,  that  one  of  the  vergers  came  to  the  re- 
sidentiary in  waiting,  to  represent,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  have  prayers  that  afternoon; 
that  the  crowds  all  round  the  church  was  so 
great,  there  would  be  no  getting  in : but  it  was 
insisted,  that  there  must  be  prayers,  only  the 
tolling  of  the  hell  should  be  deferred  a little, 
until  the  head  of  the  procession  was  got  beyond 
the  church.  When  the  bell  had  done,  and  none 
of  the  choir  appeared,  hut  one  to  read,  it  was 
upon  this  again  represented,  that  there  could  be 
only  parochial  prayers,  a thing  that  sometimes 
happens,  twice  or  thrice  perhaps  in  a year, 
when,  upon  some  allowable  occasion,  the  ab- 
sence of  the  choir-men  is  so  great,  as  not  to 
leave  the  necessary  voices  for  cathedral  service  ; 
which  very  lately  was  the  case  upon  a per- 
formance of  the  thanksgiving  music  at  White- 
hall. So  that  had  the  prayers,  on  this  occasion, 
been  parochial  only,  it  had  been  neither  new 
nor  criminal,  but  necessary  and  unavoidable, 
unless  the  Examiner  can  tell  how  the  service 
may  be  sung  decently  without  singing-men. 
However,  to  leave  informers  no  room  for  calum- 
ny, it  was  expressly  urged,  that  parochial 
prayers  on  such  a day,  would  look  ill ; that 
therefore,  if  possible,  it  should  be  avoided,  and 
the  service  should  be  begun  as  usual,  in  hopes 
one  or  two  of  the  choir  might  come  in  before  the 
psalms ; and  the  verger  was  ordered  to  look  out, 
if  he  could  see  any  of  the  choir,  to  hasten  them 
to  their  places  ; and  so  it  proved,  two  of  the  best 
voices  came  in  time  enough,  and  the  service 
was  performed  cathedral-wise,  though  in  a man- 
ner to  bare  walls,  with  an  anthem  suitable  to 
the  day.  This  is  the  fact  on  which  the  Exa- 
miner grounds  a charge  of  factious  and  sedi- 
tious principles  against  some  at  St.  Paul’s,  and 
1 am  persuaded  there  is  as  little  truth  in  what 
he  charges  some  of  Windsor  with,  though  I 
know  not  certainly  whom  he  means.  Were  I 
disposed  to  expostulate  with  the  Examiner,  I 
would  ask  him  if  he  seriously  thinks  this  be 
answering  her  majesty’s  intentions  ? Whether 
disquieting  the  minds  of  her  people  is  the  way 
to  calm  them  ? Or  to  traduce  men  of  learning 
and  virtue,  be  to  cultivate  the  arts  of  peace  ? 
But  I am  too  well  acquainted  with  his  writings 
not  to  see  he  is  past  correction ; nor  does  any 
thing  in  his  paper  surprise  me,  merely  because 
it  is  false;  for  to  use  his  own  words,  “ not  a day 
passes,”  with  him,  “ but  it  brings  forth  a mouse 
or  a monster,  some  ridiculous  lie,  some  vile  ca- 
lumny or  forgery.”  He  is  almost  equally  false 
in  every  thing  he  says ; but  it  is  not  always 
equally  easy  to  make  his  falsehood  plain  and 
palpable.  And  it  is  chiefly  for  that  reason  I 
desire  you  to  give  this  letter  a place  in  your 
papers,  that  those  that  are  willing  to  be  unde- 
ceived may  learn,  from  so  clear  an  instance, 
what  a faithful,  modest  writer  this  is,  who  pre- 
tends to  teach  them  how  to  think  and  speak  of 
things  and  persons  they  know  nothing  of  them- 
selves. As  this  is  no  way  disagreeable  to  your 
character  of  Guardian,  your  publication  of  it  is 
a favour  which  I flatter  myself  you  will  not 
deny  to,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

‘ R.  A.’ 


[No.  81. 

No.  81.]  Saturday,  June  13,  1713. 

Qiiiete  et  pure  atque  eleganter  actaesetatis  placidaac 
lenis  recordatio.  Cicero. 

Placid  and  soothing  is  the  remembrance  of  a life 
passed  with  quiet,  innocence,  and  elegance. 

The  paper  which  was  published  on  the  thir- 
tieth of  last  month,  ended  with  a piece  of  devo- 
tion written  by  the  archbishop  ofCambray.  It 
would  (as  it  was  hinted  in  that  precaution)  be 
of  singular  use  for  the  improvement  of  our 
minds,  to  have  the  secret  thoughts  of  men  of 
good  talents  on  such  occasions.  I shall  for  the 
entertainment  of  this  day  give  my  reader  two 
pieces,  which,  if  he  is  curious,  will  be  pleasing 
for  that  reason,  if  they  prove  to  have  no  other 
effect  upon  him.  One  of  them  was  found  in  the 
closet  of  an  Athenian  libertine,  who  lived  many 
ages  ago,  and  is  a soliloquy  wherein  he  contem- 
plates his  own  life  and  actions  according  to  the 
lights  men  have  from  nature,  and  the  compunc- 
tions of  natural  reason.  The  other  is  a prayer  of 
a gentleman  who  died  within  few  years  last  past; 
and  lived  to  a very  great  age ; but  had  passed 
his  youth  in  all  the  vices  in  fashion.  The  Athe- 
nian is  supposed  to  have  been  Alcibiades,  a man 
of  great  spirit,  extremely  addicted  to  pleasures, 
but  at  the  same  time  very  capable,  and  upon  oc- 
casion very  attentive  to  business.  He  was  by 
nature  endued  with  all  the  accomplishments 
she  could  bestow;  he  had  beauty,  wit,  courage, 
and  a great  understanding ; but  in  the  first 
bloom  of  his  life  was  arrogantly  affected  with 
the  advantages  he  had  over  others.  That  tem- 
per is  pretty  visible  in  an  expression  of  his:  when 
it  was  proposed  to  him  to  learn  to  play  upon  a 
musical  instrument,  he  answered,  ‘ It  is  not  for 
me  to  give,  but  to  receive  delight.’  However, 
the  conversation  of  Socrates  tempered  a strong 
inclination  to  licentiousness  into  reflections  of 
philosophy ; and  if  it  had  not  the  force  to  make 
a man  of  his  genius  and  fortune  wholly  regular, 
it  gave  him  some  cool  moments,  and  this  follow- 
ing soliloquy  is  supposed  by  the  learned  to  have 
been  thrown  together  before  some  expected  en- 
gagement, and  seems  to  be  very  much  the  pic- 
ture of  the  man. 

‘ I am  now  wholly  alone,  my  ears  are  not  en- 
tertained with  music,  my  eyes  with  beauty,  nor 
any  of  my  senses  so  forcibly  affected,  as  to  di- 
vert the  course  of  my  inward  thoughts.  Me- 
thinks  there  is  something  sacred  in  myself  now 
I am  alone.  What  is  this  being  of  mine  ? I 
came  into  it  without  my  choice,  and  yet  Socrates 
says  it  is  to  be  imputed  to  me.  In  this  repose 
of  my  senses  wherein  they  communicate  nothing 
strongly  to  myself,  I taste,  methinks,  a being 
distinct  from  their  operation.  Why  may  not 
then  my  soul  exist,  when  she  is  wholly  gone  out 
of  these  organs  ? I can  perceive  my  faculties 
grow  stronger,  the  less  I admit  the  pleasures  of 
sense ; and  the  nearer  I place  myself  to  a bare 
existence,  the  more  worthy,  the  more  noble,  the 
more  celestial  does  that  existence  appear  to  me. 
If  my  soul  is  weakened  rather  than  improved 
by  all  that  the  body  administers  to  her,  she  may 
reasonably  be  supposed  to  be  designed  for  a 
mansion  more  suitable  than  this,  wherein  what 
delights  her  diminishes  her  excellence,  and  that 
which  afflicts  her  adds  to  her  perfection.  There 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


119 


No.  82.] 

is  an  hereafter,  and  I will  not  fear  to  be  immor- 
tal for  the  sake  of  Athens.’ 

This  soliloquy  is  but  the  first  dawnings  of 
thought  in  the  mind  of  a mere  man  given  up  to 
sensuality.  The  paper  which  I mention  of  our 
contemporary  was  found  in  his  scrutoire  after 
his  death,  but  communicated  to  a friend  or  two 
of  his  in  his  life-time.  You  see  in  it  a man 
wearied  with  the  vanities  of  this  life ; and  the 
reflections  which  the  success  of  his  wit  and 
gallantry  bring  upon  his  old  age,  are  not  un- 
worthy the  observation  of  those  who  possess  the 
like  advantages. 

‘ Oh,  Almighty  Being  ! How  shall  I look  up 
towards  thee,  when  I reflect  that  I am  of  no 
consideration  but  as  I have  offended  ? My  ex- 
istence, O my  God,  without  thy  mercy,  is  not 
to  be  prolonged  in  this  or  another  world  but  for 
my  punishment.  I apprehend,  oh,  my  Maker, 
let  it  not  be  too  late : I apprehend,  and  tremble 
at  thy  presence ; and  shall  I not  consider  thee, 
who  art  all  goodness,  but  with  terror  ? Oh,  my 
Redeemer,  do  thou  behold  my  anguish.  Turn 
to  me,  thou  Saviour  of  the  world  : Who  has 
offended  like  me  7 Oh,  my  God,  I cannot  fly  out 
of  thy  presence,  let  me  fall  down  in  it;  I hum- 
ble myself  in  contrition  of  heart ; but  alas  ! I 
have  not  only  swerved  from  thee,  but  have  la- 
boured against  thee.  If  thou  dost  pardon  what 
I have  committed,  how  wilt  thou  pardon  what  I 
have  made  others  commit?  I have  rejoiced  in 
ill,  as  in  a prosperity.  Forgive,  oh  my  God,  all 
who  have  offended  by  my  persuasion,  all  who 
have  transgressed  by  my  example.  Canst  thou, 

0 God,  accept  of  the  confession  of  old  age,  to 
expiate  all  the  labour  and  industry  of  youth 
spent  in  transgressions  against  thee  ? While  I 
am  still  alive,  let  me  implore  thee  to  recall  to 
thy  grace  all  whom  I have  made  to  sin.  Let, 
oh  Lord,  thy  goodness  admit  of  his  prayer  for 
their  pardon,  by  whose  instigation  they  have 
transgressed.  Accept,  O God,  of  this  interval 
of  age,  between  my  sinful  days  and  the  hour  of 
my  dissolution,  to  wear  away  the  corrupt  habits 
in  my  soul,  and  prepare  myself  for  the  mansions 
of  purity  and  joy.  Impute  not  to  me,  oh  my  God, 
the  offences  I may  give,  after  my  death,  to  those 

1 leave  behind  me ; let  me  not  transgress  when 
I am  no  more  seen ; but  prevent  the  ill-effects 
of  my  ill-applied  studies,  and  receive  me  into  thy 
mercy.’ 

It  is  the  most  melancholy  circumstance  that 
can  be  imagined,  to  be  on  a death-bed,  and  wish 
all  that  a man  has  most  laboured  to  bring  to 
pass  were  obliterated  for  ever.  How  emphati- 
cally worse  is  this,  than  having  passed  all  one’s 
days  in  idleness!  Yet  this  is  the  frequent  case 
of  many  men  of  refined  talents.  It  is,  methinks, 
monstrous  that  the  love  of  fame,  and  value  of 
the  fashion  of  the  world,  can  transport  a man  so 
far  as  even  in  solitude  to  act  with  so  little  re- 
flection upon  his  real  interest.  This  is  premedi- 
tated madness,  for  it  is  an  error  done  with  the 
assistance  of  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind. 

When  every  circumstance  about  us  is  a con- 
stant admonition  how  transient  is  every  labour 
of  man,  it  should,  methinks,  be  no  hard  matter 
to  bring  one’s  self  to  consider  the  emptiness  of 
our  endeavours ; but  I was  not  a little  charmed 
the  other  day,  when  sitting  with  an  old  friend 


I and  communing  together  on  such  subjects,  he 
expressed  himself  after  this  manner  : — 

‘ It  is  unworthy  a Christian  philosopher  to  let 
any  thing  here  below  stand  in  the  least  compe- 
tition with  his  duty.  In  vain  is  reason  fortified 
by  faith,  if  it  produces  in  our  practice  no  greater 
effects  than  what  reason  wrought  in  mere  man. 

‘ I contemn,  (in  dependence  on  the  support 
of  heaven  I speak  it)  I contemn  all  which  the 
generality  of  mankind  call  great  and  glorious. 
I will  no  longer  think  or  aet  like  a mortal,  but 
consider  myself  as  a being  that  commenced  at 
my  birth,  and  is  to  endure  to  all  eternity.  The 
accident  of  death  will  not  end  but  improve  my 
being  ; I will  think  of  myself,  and  provide  for 
myself  as  an  immortal  ; and  I will  do  nothing 
now  which  I do  not  believe  I shall  approve  a 
thousand  years  hence.’ 


No.  82.]  Monday y June  15,  1713. 

Cedat  uti  conviva  satur Hor.  Lib.  1.  Sat.  i.  119. 

Let  liim  depart  like  a contented  guest. 

Though  men  see  every  day  people  go  to  their 
long  home,  who  are  younger  than  themselves, 
they  are  not  so  apt  to  be  alarmed  at  that,  as 
at  the  deeease  of  those  who  have  lived  longer 
in  their  sight.  They  miss  their  acquaintanee, 
and  are  surprised  at  the  loss  of  an  habitual 
object.  This  gave  me  so  much  concern  for  the 
death  of  Mr.  William  Peer  of  the  theatre-royal, 
who  was  an  actor  at  the  Restoration,  and  took 
his  theatrical  degree  with  Betterton,  Kynaston, 
and  Harris.  Though  his  station  was  humble, 
he  performed  it  well ; and  the  common  compari- 
son  with  the  stage  and  human  life,  which  has 
been  so  often  made,  may  well  be  brought  out 
upon  this  occasion.  It  is  no  matter,  say  the  mo- 
ralists, whether  you  act  a prince  or  a beggar, 
the  business  is  to  do  your  part  well.  Mr.  Wil- 
liam  Peer  distinguished  himself  particularly  in 
two  characters,  which  no  man  ever  could  touch 
but  himself ; one  of  them,  was  the  speaker  of 
the  prologue  to  the  play,  which  is  contrived  in 
the  tragedy  of  Hamlet,  to  awake  the  consciences 
of  the  guilty  princes.  Mr.  William  Peer  spoke 
that  preface  to  the  play  with  such  an  air,  as  re- 
presented that  he  was  an  actor,  and  with  such 
an  inferior  manner  as  only  acting  an  actor,  as 
made  the  others  on  the  stage  appear  real  great 
persons,  and  not  representatives.  This  was  a 
nicety  in  acting  that  none  but  the  most  subtle 
player  could  so  much  as  conceive.  I remember 
his  speaking  these  words,  in  which  there  is  no 
great  matter  but  in  the  right  adjustment  of  the 
air  of  the  speaker,  with  universal  applause : 

‘ For  us  and  for  our  tragedy, 

Here  stooping  to  your  clemency, 

We  beg  your  hearing  patiently.’ 

Hamlet  says  very  archly  upon  the  pronouncing 
of  it,  ‘ Is  this  a prologue,  or  a posy  of  a ring  V 
However,  the  speaking  of  it  got  Mr.  Peer  more 
reputation,  than  those  who  speak  the  length  of 
a puritan’s  sermon  every  night  will  ever  attain 
to.  Besides  this,  Mr.  Peer  got  a great  fame  on 
another  little  occasion.  He  played  the  apothecary 
in  Caius  Marius,  as  it  is  called  by  Otway  ; but 


120 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


Romeo  and  Juliet,  as  originally  in  Shakspeare; 
it  will  be  necessary  to  recite  more  out  of  the 
play  than  he  spoke,  to  have  a right  conception 
of  what  Peer  did  in  it.  Marius,  weary  of  life, 
recollects  means  to  be  rid  of  it  after  this  manner: 

* I do  remember  an  apothecary 

That  dwelt  about  this  rendezvous  of  death! 

Meagre  and  very  rueful  were  his  looks, 

Sharp  misery  had  worn  him  to  the  bones.’ 

When  this  spectre  of  poverty  appeared,  Marius 
addresses  him  thus : 

‘ I see  thou  art  very  poor, 

Thou  may’st  do  any  thing,  here ’s  fifty  drachmas, 
Get  me  a draught  of  what  will  soonest  free 
A wretch  from  all  his  cares.’ 

When  the  apothecary  objects  that  it  is  unlaw- 
ful, Marius  urges, 

‘ Art  thou  so  base  and  full  of  wretchedness 
Yet  fear’st  to  die!  Famine  is  in  thy  cheeks, 

' Need  and  oppression  stareth  in  thy  eyes. 

Contempt  and  beggary  hang  on  thy  back  ; 

The  world  is  not  thy  friend,  nor  the  world’s  laws  : 
The  world  affords  no  law  to  make  thee  rich  ; 

Then  be  not  poor,  but  break  it,  and  take  this.’ 

Without  all  this  quotation  the  reader  could 
not  have  a just  idea  of  the  visage  and  manner 
which  Peer  assumed,  when  in  the  most  lament- 
able tone  imaginable  he  consents  ; and  deliver- 
ing the  poison,  like  a man  reduced  to  the  drink- 
ing it  himself,  if  he  did  not  vend  it,  says  to 
Marius, 

‘ My  poverty,  but  not  my  will,  consents ; 

Take  this  and  drink  it  off,  the  work  is  done.’ 

It  was  an  odd  excellence,  and  a very  particu- 
lar circumstance  this  of  Peer’s,  that  his  wliole 
action  of  life  depended  upon  speaking  five  lines 
better  than  any  man  else  in  the  world.  But  this 
eminence  lying  in  so  narrow  a compass,  the 
governors  of  the  theatre  observing  his  talents  to 
lie  in  a certain  knowledge  of  propriety,  and  his 
person  admitting  him  to  shine  only  in  the  two 
above  parts,  his  sphere  of  action  was  enlarged 
by  the  addition  of  the  post  of  property-man. 
This  officer  has  always  ready,  in  a place  ap- 
pointed  for  him  behind  the  prompter,  all  such 
tools  and  implements  as  are  necessary  in  the 
play,  and  it  is  his  business  never  to  want  billet- 
doux,  poison,  false  money,  thunderbolts,  dag- 
gers, scrolls  of  parchment,  wine,  pomatum  trun- 
cheons, and  wooden  legs,  ready  at  the  call  of  the 
said  prompter,  according  as  his  respective  uten- 
sils were  necessary  for  prompting  what  was  to 
pass  on  the  stage.  The  addition  of  this  office, 
so  important  to  the  conduct  of  the  whole  affair 
of  the  stage,  and  the  good  economy  observed  by 
their  present  managers  in  punctual  payments, 
made  Mr.  Peer’s  subsistence  very  comfortable. 
But  it  frequently  happens,  that  men  lose  their 
virtue  in  prosperity,  who  were  shining  charac- 
ters in  the  contrary  condition.  Good  fortune 
indeed  had  no  effect  on  the  mind,  but  very  much 
on  the  body  of  Mr.  Peer.  For  in  the  seventieth 
year  of  his  age  he  grew  fat,  which  rendered  his 
figure  unfit  for  the  utterance  of  the  five  lines 
above-mentioned.  He  had  now  unfortunately 
lost  the  wan  distress  necessary  for  the  counte- 
nance of  the  apothecary,  and  was  too  jolly  to 
speak  the  prologue  with  the  proper  humility.  It 
is  thought  this  calainity  went  too  near  him.  It 


[No.  82. 

did  not  a little  contribute  to  the  shortening 
his  days ; and,  as  there  is  no  state  of  real  hap-  ( 
piness  in  this  life,  Mr.  Peer  was  undone  by  his  ;j 
success,  and  lost  all  by  arriving  at  what  is  the  < 
end  of  all  other  men’s  pursuits,  his  ea^e. 

I could  not  forbear  inquiring  into  the  effects  | 

Mr.  Peer  left  behind  him,  but  find  there  is  no  t 

demand  due  to  him  from  the  house,  but  the  fol- 
lowing bill : * 

£ s d 

For  hire  of  six  case  of  pistols,  0 4 0 ' 

A drum  for  Mrs.  Bignall  in  the  Pil- 
grim,   0 4 4 

A truss  of  straw  for  the  madmen,  0 0 8 

Pomatum  and  Vermillion  to  grease 

the  face  of  the  stuttering  cook,  0 0 8 i 

For  boarding  a setting  dog  two  days 
to  follow  Mr.  Johnson  in  Epsom 

Wells, 0 0 6' 

For  blood  in  Macbeth,  - - 0 0 3 

Raisins  and  almonds  for  a witch’s 

banquet, 008 

This  contemporary  of  mine,  whom  I have 
often  rallied  for  the  narrow  compass  of  his  sin- 
gular perfections,  is  now  at  peace,  and  wants 
no  further  assistance  from  any  man  ; but  men 
of  extensive  genius,  now  living,  still  depend 
upon  the  good  offices  of  the  town. 

I am  therefore  to  remind  my  reader,  that  on 
this  day,  being  the  fifteenth  of  June,  the  Plot- 
ting Sisters  is  to  be  acted  for  the  benefit  of 
the  author,  my  old  friend  Mr.  d’Urfey.  This 
comedy  was  honoured  with  the  presence  of 
king  Charles  the  Second  three  of  its  first  five 
nights. 

My  friend  has  in  this  work  shown  himself  a 
master,  and  made  not  only  the  characters  of  the 
play,  but  also  the  furniture  of  the  house  contri- 
bute to  the  main  design.  He  has  made  excel- 
lent use  of  a table  with  a carpet,  and  the  key  of 
a closet.  With  these  two  implements,  which 
would,  perhaps,  have  been  overlooked  by  an  or- 
dinary writer,  he  contrives  the  most  natural 
perplexities  (allowing  only  the  use  of  these 
household  goods  in  poetry)  that  ever  were  re- 
presented on  a stage.  He  has  also  made  good 
advantage  of  the  knowledge  of  the  stage  itself ; 
for  in  the  nick  of  being  surprised,  the  lovers  are 
let  down  and  escape  at  a trap-door.  In  a word, 
any  who  have  the  curiosity  to  observe  what 
pleased  in  the  last  generation,  and  does  not  go 
to  a comedy  with  a resolution  to  be  grave,  will 
find  this  evening  ample  food  for  mirth.  John- 
son, who  understands  what  he  does  as  well  as  i 
any  man,  exposes  the  impertinence  of  an  old 
fellow,  who  has  lost  his  senses,  still  pursuing 
pleasures,  with  great  mastery.  The  ingenious 
Mr.  Pinkethman  is  a bashful  rake,  and  is  sheep- 
ish without  having  modesty  with  great  success. 

Mr.  Bullock  succeeds  Nokes  in  the  part  of 
Bubble,  and  in  my  opinion  is  not  much  below 
him  : fbr  he  doos  excellently  that  sort  of  folly 
we  call  absurdity,  which  is  the  very  contrary 
of  wit,  but,  next  to  that,  is  of  all  things  the 
properest  to  excite  mirth.  What  is  foolish  is 
the  object  of  pity  ; but  absurdity  often  proceeds 
from  an  opinion  of  sufficiency,  and  consequently  ' 
is  an  honest  occasion  for  laughter.  These  i 
characters  in  this  play  cannot  choose  but  make  / 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


121 


No.  83.] 

it  a very  pleasant  entertainment,  and  the  deco- 
rations of  singing  and  dancing  will  more  than 
repay  the  good  nature  of  those  who  make  an 
honest  man  a visit  of  two  merry  hours  to  make 
his  following  year  unpainful. 


No.  83.]  Tuesday,  June  16,  1713. 

Nimirum  iiisanus  paucis  videatur,  eo  quod 
Maxima  pars  honiinuni  morbo  jactatur  eodem. 

Hor.  Lib.  2.  Sat.  iii.  120. 

Few  think  these  mad,  for  most  like  these, 

Are  sick  and  troubled  with  the  same  disease. 

Creech. 

There  is  a restless  endeavour  in  the  mind  of 
man  after  happiness.  This  appetite  is  wrought 
into  the  original  frame  of  our  nature,  and  ex- 
erts itself  in  all  parts  of  the  creation  that  are  en- 
dued with  any  degree  of  thought  or  sense.  But 
as  the  human  mind  is  dignified  by  a more  com- 
prehensive faculty  than  can  be  found  in  the 
inferior  animals,  it  is  natural  for  men  not  only 
to  have  an  eye,  each  to  his  own  happiness,  but 
also  to  endeavour  to  promote  that  of  others  in  the 
same  rank  of  being : and  in  proportion  to  the 
generosity  that  is  ingredient  in  the  temper  of 
the  soul,  the  object  of  its  benevolence  is  of  a 
larger  and  narrower  extent.  There  is  hardly 
a spirit  upon  earth  so  mean  and  contracted,  as 
to  centre  all  regards  on  its  own  interest,  ex- 
clusive of  the  rest  of  mankind.  Even  the 
selfish  man  has  some  share  of  love,  which  he 
bestows  on  his  family  and  his  friends.  A nobler 
mind  hath  at  heart  the  common  interest  of  the 
society  or  country  of  which  he  makes  a part. 
And  there  is  still  a more  diffusive  spirit,  whose 
being  or  intentions  reach  the  whole  mass  of 
mankind,  and  are  continued  beyond  the  present 
age  to  a succession  of  future  generations. 

The  advantage  arising  to  him  who  hath  a 
tincture  of  this  generosity  on  his  soul,  is,  that 
he  is  affected  with  a sublimer  joy  than  can  be 
comprehended  by  one  who  is  destitute  of  that 
noble  relish.  The  happiness  of  the  rest  of 
mankind  hath  a natural  connexion  with  that  of 
a reasonable  mind.  And  in  proportion  as  the 
actions  of  each  individual  contribute  to  this 
end,  he  must  be  thought  to  deserve  well  or  ill, 
both  of  the  world,  and  of  himself.  A have  in  a 
late  paper  observed,  that  men  wlio  have  no 
reach  of  thought  do  often  misplace  their  affec- 
tions on  the  means,  without  respect  to  the  end ; 
and  by  a preposterous  desire  of  things  in  them- 
selves indifferent,  forego  the  enjoyment  of  that 
happiness  which  those  things  are  instrumental 
to  obtain.  This  observation  has  been  considered 
with  regard  to  critics  and  misers ; I shall  now 
apply  it  to  free-thinkers. 

Liberty  and  truth  are  the  main  points  which 
these  gentlemen  pretend  to  have  in  view ; to 
proceed,  therefore,  methodically,  I will  endea- 
vour to  show  in  the  first  place,  that  liberty  and 
truth  are  not  in  themselves  desirable,  but  only 
as  they  relate  to  a farther  end.  And  secondly, 
that  the  sort  of  liberty  and  truth  (allowing  them 
those  names)  which  our  free-thinkers  use  all 
their  industry  to  promote,  is  destructive  of  that 
end,  viz.  human  happiness : and  consequently 
that  species,  as  such,  instead  of  being  encou- 


raged  or  esteemed,  merit  the  detestation  and 
abhorrence  of  all  honest  men.  And  in  the  last 
place,  I design  to  show,  that  under  the  pretence 
of  advancing  liberty  and  truth,  they  do  in 
reality  promote  the  two  contrary  evils. 

As  to  the  first  point,  it  has  been  observed  that 
it  is  the  duty  of  each  particular  person  to  aim 
at  the  happiness  of  his  fellow-creatures ; and 
that  as  this  view  is  of  a wider  or  narrower 
extent,  it  argues  a mind  more  or  less  virtuous. 
Hence  it  follows,  that  a liberty  of  doing  good 
actions  which  conduce  to  the  felicity  of  man- 
kind, and  a knowledge  of  such  truths  as  might 
either  give  us  pleasure  in  the  contemplation  of 
them,  or  direct  our  conduct  to  the  great  ends  of 
life,  are  valuable  perfections.  But  shall  a good 
man,  therefore,  prefer  a liberty  to  commit  mur- 
der or  adultery,  before  the  wholesome  restraint 
of  divine  and  human  laws?  Or  shall  a wise 
man  prefer  the  knowledge  of  a troublesome  and 
afflicting  truth,  before  a pleasant  error  that 
would  cheer  his  soul  with  joy  and  comfort,  and 
be  attended  with  no  ill  consequences  ? Surely 
no  man  of  common  sense  would  thank  him, 
who  had  put  it  in  his  power  to  execute  the  sud- 
den suggestions  of  a fit  of  passion  or  madness, 
or  imagine  himself  obliged  to  a person,  who,  by 
forwardly  informing  him  of  ill  news,  had  caused 
his  soul  to  anticipate  that  sorrow  which  she 
would  never  have  felt  so  long  as  the  ungrateful 
truth  lay  concealed. 

Let  us  then  respect  the  happiness  of  our 
species,  and  in  this  light  examine  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  free-thinkers.  From  what  giants  and 
monsters  would  these  knight-errants  undertake 
to  free  the  world?  From  the  ties  that  religion 
imposeth  on  our  minds,  from  the  expectation  of 
a future  judgment,  and  from  the  terrors  of  a 
troubled  conscience,  not  by  reforming  men’s 
lives,  but  by  giving  encouragement  to  their 
vices.  What  are  those  important  truths  of 
which  they  would  convince  mankind  ? That 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  a wise  and  just  Provi- 
dence ; that  the  mind  of  man  is  corporeal ; that 
religion  is  a state  trick,  contrived  to  make  men 
honest  and  virtuous,  and  to  procure  a subsist- 
ence to  others  for  teaching  and  exhorting  them 
to  be  so ; that  the  good  tidings  of  life  and  im- 
mortality, brought  to  light  by  the  gospel,  are 
fables  and  impostures ; from  believing  that  we 
are  made  in  the  image  of  God,  they  would  de- 
grade us  to  an  opinion  that  we  are  on  a level 
with  the  beasts  that  perish.  What  pleasure  or 
what  advantage  do  these  notions  bring  to  man- 
kind. Is  it  of  any  use  to  the  public  that  good 
men  should  lose  the  comfortable  prospect  of  a 
reward  to  their  virtue;  or  the  wicked  be  en- 
couraged to  persist  in  their  impiety,  from  an 
assurance  that  they  shall  not  be  punished  for  it 
hereafter  ? 

Allowing,  therefore,  these  men  to  be  patrons 
of  liberty  and  truth,  yet  it  is  of  such  truths,  and 
that  sort  of  liberty,  which  makes  them  justly 
be  looked  upon  as  enemies  to  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  the  world.  But  upon  a thorough 
and  impartial  view  it  will  be  found,  that  their 
endeavours,  instead  of  advancing  the  cause  of 
liberty  and  truth,  tend  only  to  introduce  slavery 
and  error  among  men.  There  are  two  parts  in 
our  nature : the  baser,  which  consists  of  our 
11 


122 


THE  aUARDIAN. 


[No.  84. 


senses  and  passions,  and  the  more  noble  and  ra- 
tional,  which  is  properly  the  human  part,  the 
other  being  common  to  us  with  brutes.  The 
inferior  part  is  generally  much  stronger,  and  has 
always  the  start  of  reason,  which  if  in  the  per- 
petual struggle  between  them,  it  were  not  aided 
from  heaven  by  religion,  would  almost  univer- 
sally be  vanquished,  and  man  become  a slave  to 
his  passions,  which,  as  it  is  the  most  grievous 
and  shameful  slavery,  so  it  is  the  genuine  result 
of  that  liberty  which  is  proposed  by  overturning 
religion.  Nor  is  the  other  part  of  their  design 
better  executed.  Look  into  their  pretended 
truths:  are  they  not  so  many  wretched  absur- 
dities, maintained  in  opposition  to  the  light  of 
nature  and  divine  revelation  by  sly  inuendoes 
and  cold  jests,  by  such  pitiful  sophisms  and  such 
confused  and  indigested  notions,  that  one  would 
vehemently  suspect  those  men  usurped  the 
name  of  free-thinkers  with  the  same  view  that 
hypocrites  do  that  of  godliness,  that  it  may 
serve  for  a cloak  to  cover  the  contrary  defect? 

I shall  close  this  discourse  with  a parallel  re- 
flection on  these  three  species,  who  seem  to  be 
allied  by  a certain  agreement  in  mediocrity  of 
understanding.  A critic  is  entirely  given  up 
to  the  pursuit  of  learning ; when  he  has  got  it, 
is  his  judgment  clearer,  his  imagination  livelier, 
or  his  manners  more  polite  than  those  of  other 
men  ? Is  it  observed  that  a miser,  when  he  has 
acquired  his  superfluous  estate,  eats,  drinks,  or 
sleeps  with  more  satisfaction,  that  he  has  a 
cheerfuller  mind,  or  relishes  any  of  the  enjoy- 
ments of  life  better  than  his  neighbours  ? The 
free-thinkers  plead  hard  for  a licence  to  think 
freely ; they  have  it : but  what  use  do  they 
make  of  it  ? Are  they  eminent  for  any  sublime 
discoveries  in  any  of  the  arts  and  sciences  I 
Have  they  been  authors  of  any  inventions  that 
conduce  to  the  well-being  of  mankind  ? Do  their 
writings  show  a greater  depth  of  design,  a 
clearer  method,  or  more  just  and  correct  rea- 
soning than  those  of  other  men  ? 

There  is  a great  resemblance  in  their  genius  ; 
but  the  critic  and  miser  are  only  ridiculous  and 
contemptible  creatures,  while  the  free-thinker 
is  also  a pernicious  one. 


No.  84.]  Wednesday,  June  17, 1713. 

Non  missura  cutem  nisi  plena  crnoris  hirudo. 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  ult. 

Sticking  like  leeches,  till  they  burst  with  blood. 

Roscommon. 

‘ To  the  Honoured  Nestor  Ironside,  Esq. 

‘ Middle  Temple,  June  12. 

* Sir, — I resuming  you  may  sometimes  con- 
descend to  take  cognizance  of  small  enormities, 
I here  lay  one  before  you,  which  I proceed  to 
without  farther  apology,  as  well  knowing  the 
best  compliment  to  a man  of  business  is  to  come 
to  the  point. 

‘ There  is  a silly  habit  among  many  of  our 
minor  orators,  who  display  their  eloquence  in 
the  several  coffee-houses  of  this  fair  city,  to  the 
no  small  annoyance  of  considerable  numbers  of 


her  majesty’s  spruce  and  loving  subjects,  and 
that  is  a humour  they  have  got  of  twisting  off 
your  buttons.  These  ingenious  gentlemen  are 
not  able  to  advance  three  words  until  they  have 
got  fast  hold  of  one  of  your  buttons  ; but  as 
soon  as  they  have  procured  such  an  excellent 
handle  for  discourse,  they  will  indeed  proceed  r 
with  great  elocution.  I know  not  how  well  \ 

some  may  have  escaped,  but  for  my  part  I have  ^ 

often  met  with  them  to  my  cost ; having  I be- 
lieve,  within  these  three  years  last  past  been 
argued  out  of  several  dozens  ; insomuch,  that  i 
I have,  for  some  time,  ordered  my  tailor  to 
bring  me  home  with  every  suit  a dozen  at  least 
of  spare  ones,  to  supply  the  place  of  such  as 
from  time  to  time  are  detached  as  a help  to  i 

discourse,  by  the  vehement  gentlemen  before-  | 

mentioned.  This  way  of  holding  a man  in  dis-  .| 

course,  is  much  practised  in  the  coffee-houses  i 

within  the  city,  and  does  not  indeed  so  much  \ 

prevail  at  the  politer  end  of  the  town.  It  is  i 

likewise  more  frequently  made  use  of  among  j 

the  small  politicians,  than  any  other  body  of  | 

men  ; I am  therefore  something  cautious  of  en-  i 

tering  into  a controversy  with  this  species  of  1 

statesmen,  especially  the  younger  fry  ; for  if  ( 

you  offer  in  the  least  to  dissent  from  any  thing  | 

that  one  of  these  advances,  he  immediately  i 

steps  up  to  you,  takes  hold  of  one  of  your  but-  1 

tons,  and  indeed  will  soon  convince  you  of  the  f 

strength  of  his  argumentation.  I remember,  i 

upon  the  news  of  Dunkirk’s  being  delivered  » 

into  our  hands,  a brisk  little  fellow,  a politician  i 

and  an  able  engineer,  had  got  into  the  middle  I 

of  Batson’s  coffee-house,  and  was  fortifying  i 

Graveling  for  the  service  of  the  most  Christian  i 

king,  with  all  imaginable  expedition.  The  work 
was  carried  on  with  such  success,  that  in  less  » 

than  a quarter  of  an  hour’s  time,  he  had  made  I 

it  almost  impregnable,  and  in  the  opinion  of  se-  J 

veral  w’orthy  citizens  who  had  gathered  round 
him,  full  as  strong  both  by  sea  and  land  as  Dun- 
kirk ever  could  pretend  to  be.  I happened,  j 

however,  unadvisedly  to  attack  some  of  his  out-  1 

works;  upon  which,  to  show  his  great  skill  ’ 

likewise  in  the  offensive  part,  he  immediately 
made  an  assault  upon  one  of  my  buttons,  and 
carried  it  in  less  than  two  minutes,  notwith- 
standing I made  as  handsome  a defence  as  was 
possible.  He  had  likewise  invested  a second, 
and  would  certainly  have  been  master  of  that 
too  in  a very  little  time,  had  not  he  been  divert- 
ed from  this  enterprise  by  the  arrival  of  a cou- 
rier, who  brought  advice  that  his  presence  was 
absolutely  necessary  in  the  disposal  of  a beaver,* * 
upon  w'hich  he  raised  the  siege,  and  indeed  re-  ’ : 
tired  with  some  precipitation.  In  the  coffee- 
houses here  about  the  Temple,  you  may  ha-  i 

rangue  even  among  our  dabblers  in  politics  for  i 

about  two  buttons  a day,  and  many  times  for  t 
less.  I had  yesterday  the  good  fortune  to  re-  ^ 

ceive  very  considerable  additions  to  my  know-  ' 

ledge  in  state  affairs,  and  I find  this  morning,  j 
that  it  has  not  stood  me  in  above  a button.  In  i 
most  of  the  eminent  coffee-houses  at  the  other  J 


* The  person  here  alluded  to  was  a Mr.  James  Hey-  1 

wood,  a linen  draper,  who  was  the  writer  of  a letter  in  4 

the  Spectator,  signed  James  Easy. 


No.  85.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


123 


end  of  the  town,  for  example,  to  go  no  farther 
than  Will’s  in  Covent-garden,  the  company  is 
so  refined,  that  you  may  hear  and  be  heard,  and 
not  be  a button  the  worse  for  it.  Besides  the 
gentlemen  before-mentioned,  there  are  others 
who  are  no  less  active  in  their  harangues,  but 
with  gentle  services  rather  than  robberies. 
These,  while  they  are  improving  your  under- 
standing, are  at  the  same  time  setting  off  your 
person;  they  will  new-plait  and  adjust  your 
neckcloth. 

‘ But  though  I can  bear  with  this  kind  of 
orator,  who  is  so  humble  as  to  aim  at  the  good- 
will of  his  hearer  by  being  his  valet  de  cham- 
bre,-I  must  rebel  against  another  sort  of  them. 
There  are  some,  sir,  that  do  not  stick  to  take  a 
man  by  the  collar  when  they  have  a mind  to 
persuade  him.  It  is  your  business,  I humbly 
presume,  Mr.  Ironside,  to  interpose  that  a man 
is  not  brought  over  to  his  opponent  by  force  of 
arms.  It  were  requisite  therefore  that  you 
should  name  a certain  interval,  which  ought  to 
be  preserved  between  the  speaker  and  him  to 
whom  he  speaks.  For  sure  no  man  has  a right, 
because  I am  not  of  his  opinion,  to  take  any  of 
my  clothes  from  me,  or  dress  me  according  to 
his  own  liking.  I assure  you  the  most  becom- 
ing thing  to  me  in  the  world  is  in  a campaign 
periwig,  to  wear  one  side  before  and  the  other 
cast  upon  the  collateral  shoulder.  But  there  is 
a friend  of  mine  who  never  talks  to  me  but  he 
throws  that  which  I wear  forward,  upon  my 
shoulder,  so  that  in  restoring  it  to  its  place  I 
lose  two  or  three  hairs  out  of  the  lock  upon  my 
buttons  ; though  I never  touched  him  in  my 
whole  life,  and  have  been  acquainted  with  him 
these  ten  years.  I have  seen  my  eager  friend 
in  danger. sometimes  of  a quarrel  by  this  ill  cus- 
tom, for  there  are  more  young  gentlemen  who 
can  feel,  than  can  understand.  It  would  be 
therefore  a good  office  to  my  good  friend  if  you 
advised  him  not  to  collar  any  man  but  one  who 
knows  what  he  means,  and  give  it  him  as  a 
standing  precaution  in  conversation,  that  none 
but  a very  good  friend  will  give  him  the  liberty 
of  being  seen,  felt,  heard,  and  understood  all  at 
once.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

‘ JOHANNES  MISOCHIROSOPHUS. 

‘ P.  S.  I have  a sister  who  saves  herself  from 
being  handled  by  one  of  these  manual  rheto- 
ricians by  giving  him  her  fan  to  play  with  ; but 
I appeal  to  you  in  the  behalf  of  us  poor  helpless 
men.’ 

June  15,  1713. 

I am  of  opinion,  that  no  orator  or  speaker  in 
public  or  private  has  any  right  to  meddle  with 
any  body’s  clothes  but  his  own.  I indulge  men 
in  the  liberty  of  playing  with  their  own  hats, 
fumbling  in  their  own  pockets,  settling  their 
own  periwigs,  tossing  or  twisting  their  heads, 
and  all  other  gesticulations  which  may  contri- 
bute to  their  elocution ; but  pronounce  it  an  in- 
fringement of  the  English  liberty,  for  a man  to 
keep  his  neighbour’s  person  in  custody  in  order 
to  force  a hearing  ; and  farther  declare,  that  all 
assent  given  by  an  auditor  under  such  constraint, 
is  of  itself  void  and  of  no  effect. 

NESTOR  IRONSIDE. 


No.  85.]  Thursday^  June  18,  1713. 

Sed  te  decor  isle,  qtiod  optas, 

Esse  vetat  votoque  tuo  lua  forma  repugnat. 

Oi'id  Met.  Lib.  i.  488. 

But  so  much  youth,  with  so  much  beauty  join’d, 

Oppose  the  state  which  thy  desires  designed. 

Dryden. 

To  suffer  scandal  (says  somebody)  is  the  tax 
which  every  person  of  merit  pays  to  the  public  ; 
and  my  lord  Verulam  finely  observes,  that  a man 
who  has  no  virtue  in  himself,  ever  envies  virtue 
in  others.  I know  not  how  it  comes  to  pass, 
but  detraction,  through  all  ages,  has  been  found 
a vice  which  the  fair  sex  too  easily  give  in  to. 
Not  the  Roman  satirist  could  use  tliem  with 
more  severity  than  they  themselves  do  one 
another.  Some  audacious  critics,  in  my  opinion, 
have  launched  out  a little  too  far  when  they  take 
upon  them  to  prove,  in  opposition  to  history,  that 
Lais  was  a woman  of  as  much  virtue  as  beauty, 
which  violently  displeasing  the  Phrynes  of  those 
times,  they  secretly  prevailed  with  the  histo- 
rians to  deliver  her  down  to  posterity  under  the 
infamous  character  of  an  extorting  prostitute. 
But  though  I have  the  greatest  regard  imagin- 
able to  that  softer  species,  yet  am  I sorry  to  find 
they  have  very  little  for  themselves.  So  far  are 
they  from  being  tender  of  one  another’s  reputa- 
tion, that  they  take  a malicious  pleasure  in  de- 
stroying it.  My  lady  the  other  day,  when  Jack 
was  asking,  who  could  be  so  base  to  spread  such 

a report  about  Mrs. , answered,  ‘ None, 

you  may  be  sure,  but  a woman.’  A little  after, 
Dick  told  my  lady,  that  he  had  heard  Florella 
hint  as  if  Cleora  wore  artificial  teeth.  The  rea- 
son is,  said  she,  because  Cleora  first  gave  out 
that  Florella  owed  her  complexion  to  a wash. 
Thus  the  industrious  pretty  creatures  take  pains 
by  invention,  to  throw  blemishes  on  each  other, 
when  they  do  not  consider  that  there  is  a profli- 
gate set  of  fellows  too  ready  to  taint  the  cha- 
racter of  the  virtuous,  or  blast  the  charms  of 
the  blooming  virgin.  The  young  lady  from 
whom  I had  the  honour  of  receiving  the  follow- 
ing letter,  deserves  or  rather  claims,  protection 
from  our  sex,  since  so  barbarously  treated  by 
her  own.  Certainly  they  ought  to  defend  inno- 
cence from  injury  who  gave  ignorantly  the  oc- 
casion of  its  being  assaulted.  Had  the  men 
been  less  liberal  of  their  applauses,  the  women 
had  been  more  sparing  of  these  calumnious 
censures. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘Sir, — 1 do  not  know  at  what  nice  point  you 
fix  the  bloom  of  a young  lady  ; but  I am  one 
who  can  just  look  back  upon  fifteen.  My  father 
dying  three  years  ago,  left  pie  under  the  care 
and  direction  of  my  mothef)  with  a fortune  not 
profusely  great,  yet  such  as  might  demand  a 
very  handsome  settle^nent,  if  ever  proposals  of 
marriage  should  be  offered.  My  mother,  after 
the  usual  time  of  retired  mourning  was  over, 
was  so  affectionately  indulgent  to  me,  as  to  take 
me  along  with  her  in  all  her  visits  ; but  still  not 
thinking  she  gratified  my  youth  enough,  per- 
mitted me  further  to  go  with  my  relations  to  all 
the  public,  cheerful,  but  innocent  entertain- 


124 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  85. 


ments,  where  she  was  too  reserved  to  appear 
herself.  The  two  first  years  of  my  teens  were 
easy,  gay,  and  delightful.  Every  one  caressed 
me ; the  old  ladies  told  me  how  finely  I grew, 
and  the  young  ones  were  proud  of  my  company. 
But  when  the  third  year  had  a little  advanced, 
my  relations  used  to  tell  my  mother,  that  pretty 
miss  Clary  was  shot  up  into  a woman.  The 
gentlemen  began  now  not  to  let  their  eyes  glance 
over  me,  and  in  most  places  I found  myself  dis- 
tinguished ; but  observed,  the  more  I grew  into 
the  esteem  of  their  sex,  the  more  I lost  the  fa- 
vour of  my  own.  Some  of  those  whom  I had 
been  familiar  with,  grew  cold  and  indifferent ; 
others  mistook  by  design,  my  meaning,  made 
me  speak  what  I never  thought,  and  so  by  de- 
grees took  occasion  to  break  off  all  acquaint- 
ance. There  were  several  little  insignificant 
reflections  cast  upon  me,  as  being  a lady  of  a 
great  many  quaintnesses,  and  such  like,  which 
I seemed  not  to  take  notice  of.  But  my  mother 
coming  home  about  a week  ago,  told  me  there 
W’as  a scandal  spread  about  town  by  my  ene- 
mies, that  would  at  once  ruin  me  for  ever  for  a 
beauty  ; I earnestly  entreated  her  to  know  it ; 
she  refused  me,  but  yesterday  it  discovered 
itself  Being  in  an  assembly  of  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  one  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  been  very 
facetious  to  several  of  the  ladies,  at  last  turning 
to  me,  ‘ And  as  for  you,  madam.  Prior  has  al- 
ready given  us  your  character, 

“ That  air  and  harmony  of  shape  express, 

Fine  by  degrees,  yet  beautifully  less.” 

I perceived  immediately  a malignant  smile  dis- 
play itself  in  the  countenance  of  some  of  the 
ladies,  which  they  seconded  with  a scornful 
flutter  of  the  fan  ; until  one  of  them,  unable  any 
longer  to  contain,  asked  the  gentleman  if  he  did 
not  remember  what  Congreve  said  about  Au- 
relia, for  she  thought  it  mighty  pretty.  He 
made  no  answer,  but  instantly  repeated  the 
verses : 

“The  mulcibers  who  in  the  minories  sweat. 

And  massive  bars  on  stubborn  anvils  beat ; 

Deform’d  themselves,  yet  forge  those  stays  of  steel. 

Which  arm  Aurelia  with  a shape  to  kill.” 

This  was  no  sooner  over,  but  it  was  easily  dis- 
cernible what  an  ill-natured  satisfaction  most 
of  the  company  took;  and  the  more  pleasure 
they  showed  by  dwelling  upon  the  two  last 
lines,  the  more  they  increased  my  trouble  and 
confusion.  And  now,  sir,  after  this  tedious  ac- 
count, what  would  you  advise  me  to  ? Is  there 
no  way  to  be  cleared  of  these  malicious  calum- 
nies ? What  is  beauty  worth  that  makes  the 
possessor  thus  unhappy  ? Why  was  nature  so 
lavish  of  her  gifts  to  me,  as  to  make  her  kind- 
ness prove  a cruelty  ? They  tell  me  my  shape 
is  delicate,  my  eyas  sparkling,  my  lips,  I know 
not  what,  my  cheeka,  forsooth,  adorned  with  a 
just  mixture  of  the  roa^  and  lily ; but  I wish 
this  face  was  barely  not  tfisagreeable,  this  voice 
harsh  and  unharmonious,  th-?^e  limbs  only  not 
deformed,  and  then  perhaps  I flight  live  easy 
and  unmolested,  and  neither  raise  love  and  ad- 
miration in  the  men,  nor  scandal  and  hatred  in 
the  women.  Your  very  humble  servant, 

‘CL  ARINA.’ 

The  best  answer  I can  make  ray  fair  corres- 


pondent  is.  That  she  ought  to  comfort  herself 
with  this  consideration,  that  those  who  talk 
thus  of  her  know  it  is  false,  but  wish  they  could 
make  others  believe  it  true.  It  is  not  they  think 
you  deformed,  but  are  vexed  that  they  them- 
selves were  not  as  nicely  framed.  If  you  will 
take  an  old  man’s  advice,  laugh,  and  be  not  con- 
cerned at  them  ; they  have  attained  what  they 
endeavoured  if  they  make  you  uneasy  ; for  it  is 
envy  that  has  made  them  so.  I would  not  have 
you  wish  your  shape  one  sixtieth  part  of  an  inch 
disproportioned,  nor  desire  your  face  might  be 
impoverished  with  the  ruin  of  half  a feature, 
though  numbers  of  remaining  beauties  might 
make  the  loss  insensible ; but  take  courage,  go 
into  the  brightest  assemblies,  and  the  world 
will  quickly  confess  it  to  be  scandal.  Thus 
Plato,  hearing  it  was  asserted  by  some  persons 
that  he  was  a very  bad  man,  ‘ I shall  take  care,* 
said  he,  ‘ to  live  so,  that  nobody  will  believe 
them.’ 

I shall  conclude  this  paper  with  a relation  of 
matter  of  fact.  A gay  young  gentleman  in  the 
country,  not  many  years  ago,  fell  desperately  in 
love  with  a blooming  fine  creature,  whom  give 
me  leave  to  call  Melissa.  After  a pretty  long 
delay,  and  frequent  solicitations,  she  refused 
several  others  of  larger  estates,  and  consented 
to  make  him  happy.  But  they  had  not  been 
married  much  above  a twelve-month,  until  it 
appeared  too  true  what  Juba  says, 

‘ Beauty  soon  grows  familiar  to  the  lover, 

Fades  in  the  eye,  and  palls  upon  the  sense.’ 

Polydore  (for  that  was  his  name)  finding  him- 
self grow  every  day  more  uneasy,  and  unwil- 
ling she  should  discover  the  cause,  for  diversion 
came  up  to  towm,  and,  to  avoid  all  suspicions, 
brought  Melissa  along  with  him.  After  some 
stay  here,  Polydore  was  one  day  informed,  that 
a set  of  ladies  over  their  tea-table,  in  the  circle 

of  scandal,  had  touched  upon  Melissa And 

was  that  the  silly  thing  so  much  talked  of! 
How  did  she  ever  grow  into  a toast ! For  their 
parts  they  had  eyes  as  well  as  the  men,  but 
could  not  discover  where  her  beauties  lay.  Po- 
lydore upon  hearing  this,  flew  immediately 
home  and  told  Melissa,  with  the  utmost  trans- 
port, that  he  was  now  fully  convinced  how  num- 
berless  were  her  charms,  since  her  own  sex 
would  not  allow  her  any. 

‘ Button’s  Coffee-house. 

‘Mr.  Ironside, — I have  observed  that  this 
day  you  make  mention  of  Will’s  coffee-house, 
as  a place  where  people  are  too  polite  to  hold  a 
man  in  discourse  by  the  button.  Every  body 
knows  your  honour  frequents  this  house  ; there- 
fore they  will  take  an  advantage  against  me, 
and  say,  if  my  company  was  as  civil  as  that  at 
Will’s,  you  would  say  so  : therefore  pray  your 
honour  do  not  be  afraid  of  doing  me  justice,  be- 
cause people  would  think  it  may  be  a conceit 
below  you  on  this  occasion  to  name  the  name 
of  your  humble  servant, 

‘ DANIEL  BUTTON.* 

‘ The  young  poets  are  in  the  back  room,  and 
take  their  places  as  you  directed.’ 

* Daniel  Button  kept  a coffee-house  on  the  south  side 
of  Russel-street,  about  two  doors  from  Covent-garden. 
Here  it  was  that  the  wits  of  that  time  used  to  assemble 


No.  86.] 
No.  86.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


125 


Friday^  June  19,  1713. 

Cui  mens  divinior,  atque  os 

Magna  sonaturum Hor.  Lib.  1.  Sat.  iv.  43. 

who  writes 

With  fancy  high,  and  bold  and  daring  flights. 

Creech. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘ Oxford,  June  16,  1713. 

‘Sir, — The  classical  writers,  according  to 
your  advice,  are  by  no  means  neglected  by  me, 
while  I pursue  my  studies  in  divinity.  I am 
persuaded  that  they  are  fountains  of  good  sense 
and  eloquence ; and  that  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary for  a young  mind  to  form  itself  upon  such 
models.  For  by  a careful  study  of  their  style 
and  manner,  we  shall  at  least  avoid  those  faults, 
into  which  a youthful  imagination  is  apt  to 
hurry  us ; such  as  luxuriance  of  fancy,  licen- 
tiousness of  style,  redundancy  of  thought,  and 
false  ornaments.  As  I have  been  flattered  by 
my  friends,  that  I have  some  genius  for  poetry, 
I sometimes  turn  my  thoughts  that  way  ; and 
with  pleasure  reflect,  that  I have  got  over  that 
childish  part  of  life,  which  delights  in  points 
and  turns  of  wit : and  that  I can  take  a manly 
and  rational  satisfaction  in  that  which  is  called 
painting  in  poetry.  Whether  it  be  that  in  these 
copyings  of  nature  the  object  is  placed  in  such 
lights  and  circumstances  as  strike  the  fancy 
agreeably ; or  whether  we  are  surprised  to  find 
objects  that  are  absent,  placed  before  our  eyes  ; 
or  whether  it  be  our  admiration  of  the  author’s 
art  and  dexterity  ; or  whether  we  amuse  our- 
selves with  comparing  the  picture  and  the  ori- 
ginal ; or  rather  (which  is  most  probable)  be- 
cause all  these  reasons  concur  to  affect  us ; we 
are  wonderfully  charmed  with  these  drawings 
after  the  life,  this  magic  that  raises  apparitions 
in  the  fancy. 

‘ Landscapes  or  still-life  work  much  less  upon 
us  than  representations  of  the  postures  or  pas- 
sions of  living  creatures.  Again,  those  passions 
or  postures  strike  us  more  or  less  in  proportion 
to  the  ease  or  violence  of  their  motions.  A horse 
grazing  moves  us  less  than  one  stretching  in  a 
race,  and  a racer  less  than  one  in  the  fury  of  a 
battle.  It  is  very  difficult,  I believe,  to  express 
violent  motions  which  are  fleeting  and  transi- 
tory, either  in  colours  or  words.  In  poetry  it 
requires  great  spirit  in  thought,  and  energy  in 
style  ; which  we  find  more  of  in'  the  eastern 
poetry,  than  either  the  Greek  or  Roman.  The 
great  Creator,  who  accommodated  himself  to 
those  he  vouchsafed  to  speak  to,  hath  put  into 
the  mouths  of  his  prophets  such  sublime  senti- 
ments and  exalted  language,  as  must  abash  the 
pride  and  wit  of  man.  In  the  book  of  Job,  the 
most  ancient  poem  in  the  world,  we  have  such 
paintings  and  descriptions  as  I have  spoken  of, 
in  great  variety.  I shall  at  present  make  some 
remarks  on  the  celebrated  description  of  the 
horse  in  that  holy  book,  and  compare  it  with 
those  drawn  by  Homer  and  Virgil. 

‘Homer  hath  the  following  similitude  of  a 
horse  twice  over  in  the  Iliad,  which  Virgil  hath 
copied  from  him ; at  least  he  hath  deviated  less 
from  Homer  than  Mr.  Dryden  hath  from  him  : 


“ Freed  from  his  keepers,  thus  with  broken  reins 
The  wanton  courser  prances  o’er  the  plains ; 

Or  in  the  pride  of  youth  o’erleaps  the  mounds, 

And  snuffs  the  females  in  forbidden  grounds  ; - 
Or  seeks  his  watering  in  the  well-known  flood, 

To  quench  his  thirst,  and  cool  his  fiery  blood: 

He  swims  luxuriant  in  the  liquid  plain. 

And  o’er  his  shoulders  flows  his  waving  mane  ; 

He  neighs,  he  snorts,  he  bears  his  head  on  high, 
Before  his  ample  chest  the  frothy  waters  fly.” 

‘ Virgil’s  description  is  much  fuller  than  the 
foregoing,  which,  as  I said,  is  only  a simile; 
whereas  Virgil  professes  to  treat  of  the  nature 
of  the  horse.  It  is  thus  admirably  translated : 

“ The  fiery  courser,  when  he  hears  from  far 
The  sprightly  trumpets,  and  the  shouts  of  war. 
Pricks  up  his  ears,  and  trembling  with  delight. 
Shifts  pace,  and  paws ; and  hopes  the  promis’d  fight. 
On  his  right  shoulder  his  thick  mane  reclin’d, 
Ruffles  at  speed,  and  dances  in  the  wind. 

His  horny  hoofs  are  jetty  black  and  round  : 

His  chin  is  double  ; starting,  with  a bound 
He  turns  the  turf,  and  shakes  the  solid  ground. 

Fire  from  his  eyes,  clouds  from  his  nostrils  flow ; 
He  bears  his  rider  headlong  on  the  foe.” 

‘ Now  follows  that  in  the  book  of  Job  ; which 
under  all  the  disadvantages  of  having  been 
written  in  a language  little  understood  ; of  be- 
ing expressed  in  phrases  peculiar  to  a part  of 
the  world  whose  manner  of  thinking  and  speak- 
ing seems  to  us  very  uncouth  ; and,  above  all, 
of  appearing  in  a prose  translation ; is,  never- 
theless, so  transcendently  above  the  heathen 
descriptions,  that  hereby  we  may  perceive  how 
faint  and  languid  the  images  are  which  are 
formed  by  mortal  authors,  when  compared  with 
that  which  is  figured,  as  it  were,  just  as  it  ap- 
pears in  the  eye  of  the  Creator.  God  speaking 
to  Job,  asks  him, 

“ Hast  thou  given  the  horse  strength '?  hast  thou 
clothed  his  neck  with  thunder  ? Canst  thou 
make  him  afraid  as  a grasshopper  ? The  glory 
of  his  nostrils  is  terrible.  He  paweth  in  the 
valley,  and  rejoiceth  in  his  strength.  He  goeth 
on  to  meet  the  armed  men.  He  mocketh  at 
fear,  and  is  not  affrighted ; neither  turneth  he 
back  from  the  sword.  The  quiver  rattleth 
against  him,  the  glittering  spear,  and  the  shield. 
He  swalloweth  the  ground  with  fierceness  and 
rage ; neither  believeth  he  that  it  is  the  sound 
of  the  trumpet.  He  saith  amongst  the  trum- 
pets, Ha,  ha ; and  he  smelleth  the  battle  afar 
off ; the  thunder  of  the  captains,  and  the  shout- 
ing.” 

‘ Here  are  all  the  great  and  sprightly  images 
that  thought  can  form  of  this  generous  beast, 
expressed  in  such  force  and  vigour  of  style,  as 
would  have  given  the  great  wits  of  antiquity 
new  laws  for  the  sublime,  had  they  been  ac- 
quainted with  these  writings.  I cannot  but  par- 
ticularly observe,  that  whereas  the  classical 
poets  chiefly  endeavour  to  paint  the  outward 
figure,  lineaments,  and  motions ; the  sacred 
poet  makes  all  the  beauties  to  flow  from  an  in- 
ward principle  in  the  creature  he  describes,  and 
thereby  gives  great  spirit  and  vivacity  to  his  de- 
scription. The  following  phrases  and  circum- 
stances seem  singularly  remarkable  : 

“ Hast  thou  clothed  his  neck  with  thunder  ?” 
Homer  and  Virgil  mention  nothing  about  the 
neck  of  the  horse  but  his  mane.  The  sacred 
author,  by  the  bold  figure  of  thunder,  not  only 
expresses  the  shaking  of  that  remarkable  beauty 
in  the  horse,  and  the  flakes  of  hair  which  na- 
il* 


126 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  87. 


turally  suggest  the  idea  of  lightning  ; but  like- 
wise the  violent  agitation  and  force  of  the  neck, 
which  in  the  oriental  tongues  had  been  flatly 
expressed  by  a metaphor  less  than  this. 

“ Canst  thou  make  him  afraid  as  a grasshop- 
per ?”  There  is  a twofold  beauty  in  this  expres- 
sion, which  not  only  marks  the  courage  of  this 
beast,  by  asking  if  he  can  be  scared  ? but  like- 
wise raises  a noble  image  of  his  swiftness,  by 
insinuating,  that  if  he  could  be  frighted,  he 
would  bound  away  with  the  nimbleness  of  a 
grasshopper. 

“ The  glory  of  his  nostrils  is  terrible.”  This 
is  more  strong  and  concise  than  that  of  Virgil, 
which  yet  is  the  noblest  line  that  was  ever  writ- 
ten v/ithout  inspiration : 

“ Collecturaque  premens  volvit  sub  naribus  ignem.” 
Georg,  iii.  85. 

“ And  in  his  nostrils  rolls  collected  fire.” 

“ He  rejoiceth  in  his  strength — He  mocketh 
at  fear — neither  believeth  he  that  it  is  the  sound 
of  the  trumpet — He  saith  among  the  trumpets, 
Ha,  ha,”  are  signs  of  courage  as  I said  before, 
flowing  from  an  inward  principle.  There  is  a 
peculiar  beauty  in  his  “ not  believing  it  is  the 
sound  of  the  trumpet :”  that  is,  he  cannot  believe 
it  for  joy ; but  when  he  was  sure  of  it,  and  is 
“ amongst  the  trumpets,  he  saith,  Ha,  ha  ;”  he 
neighs,  he  rejoices.  His  docility  is  elegantly 
painted  in  his  being  unmoved  at  the  “ rattling 
quiver,  the  glittering  spear,  and  the  shield ;” 
and  is  well  imitated  by  Oppian  (who  undoubt- 
edly read  Job  as  well  as  Virgil)  in  his  poem  upon 
hunting  : 

“ How  firm  the  manag’d  war-horse  keeps  his  ground, 
Nor  breaks  his  order,  tho’  the  trumpets  sound  ! 

With  fearless  eye  the  glittering  host  surveys, 

And  glares  directly  at  the  helmet’s  blaze ! 

The  master’s  word,  the  laws  of  war  he  knows. 

And  when  to  stop,  and  when  to  charge  the  foes.” 

“ He  swalloweth  the  ground,”  is  an  expres- 
sion for  prodigious  swiftness,  in  use  among  the 
Arabians,  Job’s  countrymen,  at  this  day.  The 
Latins  have  something  like  it : 

“ Latumque  fuga  consumere  campum.”  J\Temesian. 
“In  flight  the  extended  campaign  to  consume." 

“ Carpere  prata  fuga.  J^irg-  Georg,  iii.  142. 

“ In  flight  to  crop  the  meads.” 

“ campumque  volatu 

Cum  capuere,  pedum  vestigia  quaeras.”  Sil.  Ital. 

“ When  in  their  flight  the  campaign  they  have  snatch'd 
No  track  is  left  behind.” 

‘ It  is  indeed  the  boldest  and  noblest  of  images 
for  swiftness ; nor  have  I met  with  any  thing 
that  comes  so  near  it  as  Mr.  Pope’s,  in  Windsor 
Forest : 

“ The  impatient  courser  pants  in  every  vein. 

And  pawing,  seems  to  beat  the  distant  plain  ; 

Hills,  vales,  and  floods,  appear  already  cross’d. 

And  ere  he  starts,  a thousand  steps  are  lost.” 

“ He  smelleth  the  battle  afar  off,”  and  what 
follows  about  the  shouting,  is  a circumstance 
expressed  with  great  spirit  by  Lucan: 

“ So  when  the  ring  with  joyful  shouts  rebounds. 

With  rage  and  pride  the  imprison’d  courser  bounds : 


He  frets,  he  foams,  he  rends  his  idle  rein  ; 

Springs  o'er  the  fence,  and  head-long  seeks  the  plain.” 

‘ I am,  sir,  your  ever  obliged  servant, 

‘JOHN  LIZARD.’ 


No.  87.]  Saturday,  June  20,  1713. 

Constiterant  hincThisbe,  Priamus  illinc, 

Inque  vicem  fuerat  captatus  anhelitus  oris. 

Odd.  Met.  Lib.  iv.  71. 

Here  Pyramus,  there  gentle  Thisbe,  strove 

To  catch  each  other’s  breath,  the  balmy  breeze  of  love. 

My  precautions  are  made  up  of  all  that  I can 
hear  and  see,  translate,  borrow,  paraphrase,  or 
contract,  from  the  persons  with  whom  I mingle 
and  converse,  and  the  authors  whom  I read. 
But  the  grave  discourses  which  I sometimes 
give  the  town,  do  not  win  so  much  attention  as 
lighter  matters.  For  this  reason  it  is,  that  I am 
obliged  to  consider  vice  as  it  is  ridiculous,  and 
accompanied  with  gallantry,  else  I find  in  a 
very  short  time  I shall  lie  like  waste  paper  on 
the  tables  of  coffee-houses.  Where  I have  taken 
most  pains  I often  find  myself  least  read.  There 
is  a spirit  of  intrigue  got  into  all,  even  the 
meanest  of  the  people,  and  the  very  servants  are 
bent  upon  delights,  and  commence  oglers  and 
languishers.  I happened  the  other  day  to  pass 
by  a gentleman’s  house,  and  saw  the  most  flip- 
pant scene  of  low’^  love  that  I have  ever  observed. 
The  maid  was  rubbing  the  windows  within  side 
of  the  house,  and  her  humble  servant  the  foot- 
man was  so  happy  a man  as  to  be  employed  in 
cleaning  the  same  glass  on  the  side  toward  the 
street.  The  wench  began  with  the  greatest  se- 
verity of  aspect  imaginable,  and  breathing  on 
the  glass,  followed  it  with  a dry  cloth  ; her  op- 
posite observed  her,  and  fetching  a deep  sigh, 
as  if  it  were  his  last,  with  a very  disconsolate  air 
did  the  same  on  his  side  of  the  window.  He  still 
worked  on  and  languished,  till  at  last  his  fair 
one  smiled,  but  covered  herself,  and  spreading 
the  napkin  in  her  hand,  concealed  herself  from 
her  admirer,  while  he  took  pains,  as  it  were  to 
work  through  all  that  intercepted  their  meeting. 
This  pretty  contest  held  for  four  or  five  large 
panes  of  glass,  until  at  last  the  waggery  was 
turned  into  a humorous  way  of  breathing  in 
each  other’s  faces,  and  catching  the  impression. 
The  gay  creatures  were  thus  loving  and  pleasing 
their  imaginations  with  their  nearness  and  dis- 
tance, until  the  windows  were  so  transparent 
that  the  beauty  of  the  female  made  the  man- 
servant impatient  of  beholding  it,  and  the  whole 
house  besides  being  abroad,  he  ran  in,  and  they 
romped  out  of  my  sight.  It  may  be  imagined 
these  oglers  of  no  quality  made  a more  siidden 
application  of  the  intention  of  kind  sighs  and 
glances,  than  those  whose  education  lays  them 
under  greater  restraints,  and  who  are  conse- 
quently more  slow  in  their  advances.  I have 
often  observed  all  the  low  part  of  the  town  in 
love,  and,  taking  a hackney-coach,  have  con- 
sidered all  that  passed  by  me  in  that  light,  as 
these  cities  are  composed  of  crowds  wdierein 
there  is  not  one  who  is  not  lawfully  or  unlaw- 
fully engaged  in  that  passion.  When  one  is  in 
this  speculation,  it  is  not  unpleasant  to  observe 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


127 


No.  88.] 

alliances  between  those  males  and  females 
whose  lot  it  is  to  act  in  public.  Thus  the  woods 
in  the  middle  of  summer  are  not  more  enter- 
taining with  the  different  notes  of  birds,  than  the 
town  is  of  different  voices  of  the  several  sorts  of 
people  who  act  in  public ; they  are  divided  into 
classes,  and  crowds  made  for  crowds.  The 
hackney-coachmen,  chairmen,  and  porters,  are 
the  lovers  of  the  hawker-women,  fruitresses,  and 
milk-maids.  They  are  a wild  world  by  them- 
selves, and  have  voices  significant  of  their  pri- 
vate inclinations,  which  strangers  can  take  no 
notice  of.  Thus  a wench  with  fruit  looks  like 
a mad  woman  when  she  cries  wares  you  see  she 
does  not  carry,  but  those  in  the  secret  know  that 
cry  is  only  an  assignation  to  a hackney-coach- 
man who  is  driving  by  and  understands  her. 
The  whole  people  is  in  an  intrigue,  and  the  un- 
discerning passengers  are  unacquainted  with 
the  meaning  of  what  they  hear  all  round  them. 
They  know  not  how  to  separate  the  cries  of  mer- 
cenary traders,  from  the  sighs  and  lamentations 
of  languishing  lovers.  The  common  face  of  mo- 
desty is  lost  among  the  ordinary  part  of  the 
world,  and  the  general  corruption  of  manners 
is  visible  from  the  loss  of  all  deference  in  the 
low  people  towards  those  of  condition.  One  or- 
dej  of  mankind  trips  fast  after  the  next  above 
it,  and  by  this  rule  you  may  trace  iniquity  from 
the  conversations  of  the  most  wealthy,  down  to 
those  of  the  humblest  degree.  It  is  an  act  of 
great  resolution  to  pass  by  a crowd  of  polite 
footmen,  who  can  rally,  make  love,  ridicule,  and 
observe  upon  all  the  passengers  who  are  obliged 
to  go  by  the  places  where  they  wait.  This  li- 
cence makes  different  characters  among  them, 
and  there  are  beaus,  party-men,  and  free-think- 
ers in  livery.  I take  it  for  a rule,  that  there  is 
no  bad  man  but  makes  a bad  woman,  and  the 
contagion  of  vice  is  what  should  make  people 
cautious  of  their  behaviour.  Juvenal  says,  there 
is  the  greatest  reverence  to  be  had  to  the  pre- 
sence of  children ; it  may  be  as  well  said  of  the 
presence  of  servants,  and  it  would  be  some  kind 
of  virtue,  if  we  kept  our  vices  to  ourselves.  It 
is  a feeble  authority  which  has  not  the  support 
of  personal  respect,  and  the  dependence  founded 
only  upon  their  receiving  their  maintenance  of 
us  is  not  of  force  enough  to  support  us  against 
an  habitual  behaviour,  for  which  they  contemn 
and  deride  us.  No  man  can  be  well  served, 
but  by  those  who  have  an  opinion  of  his  merit ; 
and  that  opinion  cannot  be  kept  up  but  by  an 
exemption  from  those  faults  which  we  would 
restrain  in  our  dependents. 

Though  our  fopperies  imitated  are  subjects 
of  laughter,  our  vices  transferred  to  our  ser- 
vants give  matter  of  lamentation.  But  there  is 
nothing  in  which  our  families  are  so  docile,  as 
in  the  imitation  of  our  delights.  It  is,  there- 
fore, but  common  prudence  to  take  care,  that 
our  inferiors  know  of  none  but  our  innocent 
ones.  It  is,  methinks,  a very  arrogant  thing  to 
expect,  that  the  single  consideration  of  not  of- 
fending us  should  curb  our  servants  from  vice, 
when  much  higher  motives  cannot  moderate  our 
cwn  inclinations.  But  I began  this  paper  with 
an  observation,  that  the  lower  world  is  got  into 
fashionable  vices,  and,  above  all,  to  the  under- 
standing the  language  of  the  eye.  There  is 


nothing  but  writing  songs  which  the  footmen  do 
not  practise  as  well  as  their  masters.  Spurious 
races  of  mankind,  which  pine  in  want,  and  pe- 
rish in  their  first  months  of  being,  come  into 
the  world  from  this  degeneracy.  The  possession 
of  wealth  and  affluence  seems  to  carry  some 
faint  extenuation  of  his  guilt  who  is  sunk  by  it 
into  luxury;  but  poverty  and  servitude,  accom- 
panied with  the  vices  of  wealth  and  licentious- 
ness, is,  I believe,  a circumstance  of  ill  peculiar 
to  our  age.  This  may,  perhaps,  be  matter  of 
jest,  or  is  overlooked  by  those  who  do  not  turn 
their  thoughts  upon  the  actions  of  others.  But 
from  that  one  particular,  of  the  immorality  of 
our  servants  arising  from  the  negligence  of 
masters  of  families  in  their  care  of  them,  flows 
that  irresistible  torrent  of  disasters  which 
spreads  itself  through  all  human  life.  Old  age 
oppressed  with  beggary,  youth  drawn  into  the 
commission  of  murders  and  robberies,  both  owe 
their  disaster  to  this  evil.  If  we  consider  the 
happiness  which  grows  out  of  a fatherly  con- 
duct towards  servants,  it  would  encourage  a 
man  to  that  sort  of  care,  as  much  as  the  e&cts 
of  a libertine  behaviour  to  them  would  affright 
us. 

Lycurgus  is  a man  of  that  noble  disposition, 
that  his  domestics,  in  a nation  of  the  greatest 
liberty,  enjoy  a freedom  known  only  to  them- 
selves who  live  under  his  roof.  He  is  the  bank- 
er, the  counsel,  the  parent,  of  all  his  numerous 
dependents.  Kindness  is  the  law  of  his  house, 
and  the  way  to  his  favour  is  being  gentle,  and 
well-natured  to  their  fellow-servants.  Every  one 
recommends  himself,  by  appearing  officious  to 
let  their  patron  know  the  merit  of  others  under 
his  care.  Many  little  fortunes  have  streamed 
out  of  his  favour;  and  his  prudence  is  such,  that 
the  fountain  is  not  exhausted  by  the  channels 
from  it,  but  its  way  cleared  to  run  new  mean- 
ders. He  bestows  with  so  much  judgment,  that 
his  bounty  is  the  increase  of  his  wealth ; all  who 
share  his  favour  are  enabled  to  enjoy  it  by  his 
example,  and  he  has  not  only  made,  but  quali- 
fied many  a man  to  be  rich. 


No.  88.]  Monday,  June  22,  1713. 

Mens  agitat  molem Virg.  JEn.  vi.  727- 

A minM  informs  the  mass. 

To  one  who  regards  things  with  a philosophi- 
cal eye,  and  hath  a soul  capable  of  being  delight- 
ed with  the  sense  that  truth  and  knowledge  pre- 
vail among  men,  it  must  be  a grateful  reflection 
to  think  that  the  sublimest  truths,  which,  among 
the  heathens,  only  here  and  there  one  of  brighter 
parts  and  more  leisure  than  ordinary  could  at- 
tain to,  are  now  grown  familiar  to  the  meanest 
inhabitants  of  these  nations. 

Whence  came  this  surprising  change,  that 
regions  formerly  inhabited  by  ignorant  and  sa- 
vage people  should  now  outshine  ancient  Greece, 
and  the  other  eastern  countries  so  renowned  of 
old,  in  the  most  elevated  notions  of  theology  and 
morality  ? Is  it  the  effect  of  our  own  parts  and 
industry?  Have  our  common  mechanics  more 
refined  understandings  than  the  ancient  philo- 


128 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


sophers?  It  is  owing*  to  the  God  of  truth,  who 
came  down  from  heaven,  and  condescended  to 
be  himself  our  teacher.  It  is  as  we  are  Chris- 
tians, that  we  profess  more  excellent  and  divine 
truths  than  the  rest  of  mankind. 

If  there  be  any  of  the  free-thinkers  who  are 
not  direct  atheists,  charity  would  incline  one  to 
believe  them  ignorant  of  what  is  here  advanced. 
And  it  is  for  their  information  that  I write  this 
paper,  the  design  of  which  is  to  compare  the 
ideas  that  Christians  entertain  of  the  being  and 
attributes  of  a God,  with  the  gross  notions  of  the 
heathen  world.  Is  it  possible  for  the  mind  of 
man  to  conceive  a more  august  idea  of  the  De- 
ity than  is  set  forth  in  the  holy  scriptures  ? I 
shall  throw  together  some  passages  relating  to 
this  subject,  which  I propose  only  as  philoso- 
phical sentiments,  to  be  considered  by  a free- 
thinker. 

‘ Though  there  be  that  are  called  gods,  yet  to 
us  there  is  but  one  God.  He  made  the  heaven, 
and  heaven  of  heavens,  with  all  their  host ; the 
earth,  and  all  things  that  are  therein;  the  seas, 
and  all  that  is  therein ; he  said.  Let  them  be, 
and  it  was  so.  He  hath  stretched  forth  the  hea- 
vens. He  hath  founded  the  earth,  and  hung  it 
upon  nothing.  He  hath  shut  up  the  sea  with 
doors,  and  said.  Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  and 
no  farther,  and  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be 
stayed.  The  Lord  is  an  invisible  spirit,  in  whom 
we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being.  He  is 
the  fountain  of  life.  He  preserveth  man  and 
beast.  He  giveth  food  to  all  flesh.  In  his  hand 
is  the  soul  of  every  living  thing,  and  the  breath 
of  all  mankind.  The  Lord  maketh  poor  and 
maketh  rich.  He  bringeth  low  and  lifteth  up. 
He  killeth  and  maketh  alive.  He  woundeth  and 
he  healeth.  By  him  kings  reign,  and  princes 
decree  justice;  and  not  a sparrow  falleth  to  the 
ground  without  him.  All  angels,  authorities, 
and  powers,  are  subject  to  him.  He  appointeth 
the  moon  for  seasons,  and  the  sun  knoweth  his 
going  down.  He  thundereth  with  his  voice,  and 
directeth  it  under  the  whole  heaven,  and  his 
lightning  unto  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Fire  and 
hail,  snow  and  vapour,  wind  and  storm,  fulfil  his 
word.  The  Lord  is  king  for  ever  and  ever,  and 
his  dominion  is  an  everlasting  dominion.  The 
earth  and  the  heavens  shall  perish,  but  thou,  O 
Lord,  remainest.  They  all  shall  wax  old,  as  doth 
a garment,  and  as  a vesture  shalt  thou  fold  them 
up,  and  they  shall  be  changed ; but  thou  art  the 
same,  and  thy  years  shall  have  no  end.  God  is 
perfect  in  knowledge;  his  understanding  is  in- 
finite. He  is  the  Father  of  lights.  He  looketh 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  seeth  under  the 
whole  heaven.  The  Lord  beholdeth  all  the  chil- 
dren of  men  from  the  place  of  his  habitation, 
and  considereth  all  their  works.  He  knoweth 
our  down-sitting  and  up-rising.  He  compasseth 
our  path,  and  counteth  our  steps.  He  is  ac- 
quainted with  all  our  ways;  and  when  we  enter 
our  closet,  and  shut  our  door,  he  seeth  us.  He 
knoweth  the  things  that  come  into  our  mind, 
every  one  of  them;  and  no  thought  can  be  with- 
holden  from  him.  The  Lord  is  good  to  all,  and 
his  tender  mercies  are  over  all  his  works.  He 
is  a father  of  the  fatherless,  and  a judge  of  the 
widow.  He  is  the  God  of  peace,  the  Father  of 
mercies,  and  the  God  of  all  comfort  and  conso- 


[No.  88. 

lation.  The  Lord  is  great,  and*  we  know  him 
not;  his  greatness  is  unsearchable.  Who  but 
he  hath  measured  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hand,  and  meted  out  the  heavens  with  a 
span '!  Thine,  O Lord,  is  the  greatness,  and  the 
power,  and  the  glory,  and  the  victory,  and  the 
majesty.  Thou  art  very  great,  thou  art  clothed 
with  honour.  Heaven  is  thy  throne,  and  earth 
is  thy  footstool.’ 

Can  the  mind  of  a philosopher  rise  to  a more 
just  and  magnificent,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
more  amiable  idea  of  the  Deity  than  is  here  set 
forth  in  the  strongest  images  and  most  empha- 
tical  language  ? And  yet  this  is  the  language  of 
shepherds  and  fishermen.  The  illiterate  Jews, 
and  poor  persecuted  Christians,  retained  these 
noble  sentiments,  w’hile  the  polite  and  powerful 
nations  of  the  earth  were  given  up  to  that  sot- 
tish sort  of  worship,  of  which  the  following  ele- 
gant  description  is  extracted  from  one  of  the 
inspired  writers. 

‘ Who  hath  formed  a god,  and  molten  an 
image  that  is  profitable  for  nothing  ? The  smith 
with  the  tongs  both  worketh  in  the  coals  and 
fashioneth  it  with  hammers,  and  worketh  it 
with  the  strength  of  his  arms:  yea  he  is  hun- 
gry, and  his  strength  faileth.  He  drinketh  no 
water,  and  is  faint.  A man  planteth  an  ash, 
and  the  rain  doth  nourish  it.  He  burneth  part 
thereof  in  the  fire.  He  roasteth  roast.  He  warm- 
eth  himself.  And  the  residue  thereof  he  maketh 
a god.  He  falleth  down  unto  it,  and  worship- 
peth  it,  and  prayeth  unto  it,  and  saith.  Deliver 
me,  for  thou  art  my  god.  None  considereth  in 
his  heart,  I have  burnt  part  of  it  in  the  fire,  yea 
also,  I have  baked  bread  upon  the  coals  thereof; 
I have  roasted  flesh  and  eaten  it,  and  shall  I 
make  the  residue  thereof  an  abomination?  Shall 
I fall  down  to  the  stock  of  a tree  ?’* 

In  such  circumstances  as  these,  for  a man  to 
declare  for  free-thinking,  and  disengage  him- 
self from  the  yoke  of  idolatry,  were  doing  ho- 
nour  to  human  nature,  and  a work  well  becom- 
ing the  great  assertors  of  reason.  But  in  a 
church,  where  our  adoration  is  directed  to  the 
Supreme  Being,  and  (to  say  the  least)  where  is 
nothing  either  in  the  object  or  manner  of  wor- 
ship that  contradicts  the  light  of  nature ; there, 
under  the  pretence  of  free-thinking,  to  rail  at 
the  religious  institutions  of  their  country,  show- 
eth  an  undistinguishing  genius  that  mistakes 
opposition  for  freedom  of  thought.  And  indeed, 
notwithstanding  the  pretences  of  some  few 
among  our  free-thinkers,  I can  hardly  think 
there  are  men  so  stupid  and  inconsistent  with 
themselves,  as  to  have  a serious  regard  for  na- 
tural religion,  and  at  the  same  time  use  their 
utmost  endeavours  to  destroy  the  credit  of  those 
sacred  writings,  which,  as  they  have  been  the 
means  of  bringing  these  parts  of  the  world  to 
the  knowledge  of  natural  religion,  so  in  case 
they  lose  their  authority  over  the  minds  of  men, 
we  should  of  course  sink  into  the  same  idolatry 
which  we  see  practised  by  other  unenlightened 
nations. 

If  a person  who  exerts  himself  in  the  modern 
way  of  free-thinking  be  not  a stupid  idolater,  it 
is  undeniable  that  he  contributes  all  he  can  to 


* Isaiah  xliv.  passim. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


129 


No.  89.] 

the  making  other  men  so,  either  by  ignorance 
or  design;  which  lays  him  under  the  dilemma, 
I will  not  say,  of  being  a fool  or  knave,  but  of  in- 
curring the  contempt  or  detestation  of  mankind. 


No.  §9.]  Tuesday^  June  23,  1713. 

Igneus  est  ollis  vigor,  et  coelestis  origo 

Seminibus Firg.  ^n.  vi.  730. 

They  boast  ethereal  vigour,  and  are  form’d 
From  seeds  of  heavenly  birth. 

The  same  faculty  of  reason  and  understand- 
ing which  placeth  us  above  the  brute  part  of  the 
creation,  doth  also  subject  our  minds  to  greater 
and  more  manifold  disquiets  than  creatures  of 
an  inferior  rank  are  sensible  of.  It  is  by  this 
that  we  anticipate  future  disasters,  and  ofl  cre- 
ate to  ourselves  real  pain  from  imaginary  evils, 
as  well  as  multiply  the  pangs  arising  from  those 
which  cannot  be  avoided. 

It  behoves  us  therefore  to  make  the  best  use 
of  that  sublime  talent,  which  so  long  as  it  con- 
tinues the  instrument  of  passion,  will  serve  only 
to  make  us  more  miserable,  in  proportion  as  we 
are  more  excellent  than  other  beings. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  a thinking  being  to  with- 
draw from  the  objects  that  solicit  his  senses,  and 
turn  his  thoughts  inward  on  himself.  For  my 
own  part,  I often  mitigate  the  pain  arising  from 
the  little  misfortunes  and  disappointments  that 
checker  human  life,  by  this  introversion  of  my 
faculties,  wherein  I regard  my  own  soul  as  the 
image  of  her  Creator,  and  receive  great  conso- 
lation from  beholding  those  perfections  which 
testify  her  divine  original,  and  lead  me  into  some 
knowledge  of  her  everlasting  archetype. 

But  there  is  not  any  property  or  circumstance 
of  my  being  that  I contemplate  with  more  joy 
than  my  immortality.  I can  easily  overlook  any 
present  momentary  sorrow,  when  I reflect  that 
it  is  in  my  power  to  be  happy  a thousand  years 
hence.  If  it  were  not  for  this  thought,  I had 
rather  be  an  oyster  than  a man,  the  most  stupid 
and  senseless  of  animals,  than  a reasonable  mind 
tortured  with  an  extreme  innate  desire  of  that 
perfection  which  it  despairs  to  obtain. 

It  is  with  great  pleasure  that  I behold  in- 
stinct, reason,  and  faith,  concurring  to  attest 
this  comfortable  truth.  It  is  revealed  from 
heaven,  it  is  discovered  by  philosophers  ; and 
the  ignorant,  unenlightened  part  of  mankind 
have  a natural  propensity  to  believe  it.  It  is 
an  agreeable  entertainment  to  reflect  on  the 
various  shapes  under  which  this  doctrine  has 
appeared  in  the  world.  The  Pythagorean  trans- 
migration, the  sensual  habitations  of  the  Ma- 
hometan, and  the  shady  realms  of  Pluto,  do  all 
agree  in  the  main  points,  the  continuation  of 
our  existence,  and  the  distribution  of  rewards 
and  punishments,  proportioned  to  the  merits  or 
demerits  of  men  in  this  life. 

But  in  all  these  schemes  there  is  something 
gross  and  improbable,  that  shocks  a reasonable 
and  speculative  mind.  Whereas  nothing  can 
be  more  rational  and  sublime  than  the  Christian 
idea  of  a future  state.  ‘ Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor 
ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart 
of  man  to  conceive  the  things  which  God  hath 


prepared  for  those  that  love  him.’  The  above- 
mentioned  schemes  are  narrow  transcripts  of 
our  present  state  : but  in  this  indefinite  descrip- 
tion there  is  something  ineffably  great  and  no- 
ble. The  mind  of  man  must  be  raised  to  a 
higher  pitch,  not  only  to  partake  the  enjoyments 
of  the  Christian  paradise,  but  even  to  be  able  to 
frame  any  notion  of  them. 

Nevertheless,  in  order  to  gratify  our  imagi- 
nation, and  by  way  of  condescension  to  our 
low  way  of  thinking,  the  ideas  of  light,  glory, 
a crown,  &c.  are  made  use  of  to  adumbrate 
that  which  we  cannot  directly  understand. 
‘ The  lamb  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne 
shall  feed  them,  and  shall  lead  them  unto  living 
fountains  of  waters  ; and  God  shall  wipe  away 
all  tears  from  their  eyes.  And  there  shall  be 
no  more  death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  crying, 
neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain,  for  the 
former  things  are  passed  away,  and  behold  all 
things  are  new.  There  shall  be  no  night  there, 
and  they  need  no  candle,  neither  light  of  the 
sun  : for  the  Lord  God  giveth  them  light,  and 
shall  make  them  drink  of  the  river  of  his  plea- 
sures ; and  they  shall  reign  for  ever  and  ever. 
They  shall  receive  a crown  of  glory  which 
fadeth  not  away.’ 

These  are  cheering  reflections ; and  I have 
often  wondered  that  men  could  be  found  so  dull 
and  phlegmatic,  as  to  prefer  the  thought  of  an- 
nihilation before  them ; or  so  ill-natured,  as  to 
endeavour  to  persuade  mankind  to  the  disbelief 
of  what  is  so  pleasing  and  profitable  even  in  the 
prospect ; or  so  blind,  as  not  to  see  that  there  is 
a Deity,  and  if  there  be,  that  this  scheme  of 
things  flows  from  his  attributes,  and  evidently 
corresponds  with  the  other  parts  of  his  creation. 

I know  not  how  to  account  for  this  absurd 
turn  of  thought,  except  it  proceed  from  a want 
of  other  employment  joined  with  an  affectation 
of  singularity.  I shall,  therefore,  inform  our 
modern  free-thinkers  of  two  points,  whereof 
they  seem  to  be  ignorant.  The  first  is,  that  it 
is  not  the  being  singular,  but  being  singular  for 
something,  tliat  argues  either  extraordinary 
endowments  of  nature,  or  benevolent  intentions 
to  mankind,  which  draws  the  admiration  and 
esteem  of  the  world.  A mistake  in  this  point 
naturally  arises  from  that  confusion  of  thought 
which  I do  not  remember  to  have  seen  so  great 
instances  of  in  any  writers  as  in  certain  modern 
free-thinkers. 

The  otlier  point  is,  that  there  are  innumera- 
ble objects  within  the  reach  of  a human  mind, 
and  each  of  these  objects  may  be  viewed  in  in- 
numerable lights  and  positions,  and  the  relations 
arising  between  them  are  innumerable.  There 
is  therefore  an  infinity  of  tilings  whereon  to  em- 
ploy their  thoughts,  if  not  with  advantage  to  the 
world,  at  least  with  amusement  to  themselves, 
and  without  offence  or  prejudice  to  other  people. 
If  they  proceed  to  exert  their  talent  of  free- 
thinking  in  this  way,  they  may  be  innocently 
dull,  and  no  one  take  any  notice  of  it.  But  to 
see  men  without  either  wit  or  argument  pretend 
to  run  down  divine  and  human  laws,  and  treat 
their  fellow-subjects  with  contempt  for  profess- 
ing a belief  of  those  points,  on  which  the  pre- 
sent as  well  as  future  interest  of  mankind  de- 
pends, is  not  to  be  endured.  For  my  own  part. 


130 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  91. 


I shall  omit  no  endeavours  to  render  their  per- 
sons as  despicable,  and  their  practices  as  odious, 
in  the  eye  of  the  world,  as  they  deserve. 


No.  90.]  Wednesday,  June 

Fungar  vice  colis — Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  304. 

I ’ll  play  the  whetstone.  Creech. 

It  is,  they  say,  frequent  with  authors  to  write 
letters  to  themselves,  either  out  of  laziness  or 
vanity. 

The  following  is  genuine,  and,  I think,  de- 
serves the  attention  of  every  man  of  sense  in 
England. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ June  20. 

‘ Sir, — Thougli  I am  not  apt  to  make  com- 
plaints, and  have  never  yet  troubled  you  with 
any,  and  little  thought  I ever  should,  yet  seeing 
that  in  your  paper  of  this  day,  you  take  no  no- 
tice of  yesterday’s  Examiner,  as  I hoped  you 
would;  my  love  for  my  religion,  which  is  so 
nearly  concerned,  would  not  permit  me  to  be 
silent.  The  matter,  sir,  is  this : A bishop  of  our 
church  (to  whom  the  Examiner  himself  has  no- 
thing to  object,  but  his  care  and  concern  for  the 
protestant  religion,  which  by  him,  it  seems,  is 
thought  a sufficient  fault)  has  lately  published  a 
book,  in  which  he  endeavours  to  show  the  folly, 
ignorance,  and  mistake  of  the  church  of  Rome 
in  its  v/orship  of  saints.  From  this  the  Exa- 
miner takes  occasion  to  fall  upon  the  author, 
with  his  utmost  malice,  and  to  make  him  the 
subject  of  his  ridicule.  Is  it  then  become  a crime 
for  a protestant  to  speak  or  write  in  defence  of 
his  religion?  Shall  a papist  have  leave  to  print 
and  publish  in  England  what  he  pleases  in  de- 
fence of  his  own  opinion,  with  the  Examiner’s 
approbation;  and  shall  not  a protestant  be  per- 
mitted to  write  an  answer  to  it?  For  this,  Mr. 
Guardian,  is  the  present  case.  Last  year  a pa- 
pist (or  to  please  Mr.  Examiner,  a Roman  ca- 
tholic) published  the  life  of  St.  Wenefrede,  for 
the  use  of  those  devout  pilgrims  who  go  in 
great  numbers  to  offer  up  their  prayers  to  her 
at  her  well.  This  gave  occasion  to  the  worthy 
prelate,  in  whose  diocess  that  well  is,  to  make 
some  observations  upon  it;  and  in  order  to  un- 
deceive so  many  poor  deluded  people,  to  show 
how  little  reason,  and  how  small  authority  there 
is,  not  only  to  believe  any  of  the  miracles  attri- 
buted to  St.  Wenefrede,  but  even  to  believe  there 
ever  was  such  a person  in  the  world.  And  shall 
then  a good  man,  upon  such  an  account,  be  li- 
able to  be  abused  in  so  public  a manner?  Can 
any  good  church  of  England  man  bear  to  see  a 
bishop,  one  whom  her  present  majesty  was 
pleased  to  make,  treated  in  so  ludicrous  a way  7 
Or  should  one  pass  by  the  scurrility  and  the 
immodesty  that  is  to  be  found  in  several  parts 
of  the  paper?  Who  can,  with  patience,  see  St. 
Paul  and  St.  Wenefrede  set  by  the  Examiner 
upon  a level,  and  the  authority  for  one  m.ade  by 
him  to  be  equal  with  that  for  the  other  ? Who 
that  is  a Christian  can  endure  his  insipid  mirth 
upon  so  serious  an  occasion  ? I must  confess  it 
raises  my  indignation  to  the  greatest  height,  to 


see  a pen  that  has  been  long  employed  in  writ- 
ing panegyrics  upon  persons  of  the  first  rank 
(who  would  be,  indeed,  to  be  pitied  were  they 
to  depend  upon  that  for  their  praise)  to  see,  I ] 
say,  the  same  pen  at  last  made  use  of  in  defence  i 
of  popery. 

‘ I think  I may  now,  with  justice,  congratu- 
late with  those  whom  the  Examiner  dislikes ; 
since,  for  my  own  part,  I should  reckon  it  my 
great  honour  to  be  worthy  his  disesteem,  and 
should  count  his  censure  praise.  I am,  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant.’ 

The  above  letter  complains,  with  great  jus- 
tice, against  this  incorrigible  creature ; but  I 
do  not  insert  any  thing  concerning  him,  in  hopes 
what  I say  will  have  any  effect  upon  him,  but 
to  prevent  the  impression  what  he  says  may 
have  upon  others.  I shall  end  this  paper  with 
a letter  I have  just  now  written  to  a gentleman 
whose  writings  are  often  inserted  in  the  Guar- 
dian, without  deviation  of  one  tittle  from  what 
he  sends. 

‘June  23. 

‘ Sir, — I have  received  the  favour  of  yours 
with  the  inclosed,  which  made  up  the  papers  of 
the  two  last  days.  I cannot  but  look  upon  my- 
self with  great  contempt  and  mortification,  when 
I reflect  that  I have  thrown  away  more  hours 
than  you  have  lived,  though  you  so  much  excel 
me  in  every  thing  for  which  I would  live.  Until 
I knew  you,  I thought  it  the  privilege  of  angels 
only  to  be  very  knowing  and  very  innocent.  In 
the  warmth  of  youth  to  be  capable  of  such  ab- 
stracted and  virtuous  reflections  (with  a suitable 
life)  as  those  with  which  you  entertain  yourself, 
is  the  utmost  of  human  perfection  and  felicity. 
The  greatest  honour  I can  conceive  done  to 
another,  is  when  an  elder  does  reverence  to  a 
younger,  though  that  younger  is  not  distin- 
guished  above  him  by  fortune.  Your  contempt 
of  pleasures,  riches,  and  honour  will  crown  you 
with  them  all,  and  I wish  you  them  not  for  your 
own  sake,  but  for  the  reason  which  only  would 
make  them  eligible  by  yourself,  the  good  of 
others.  I am,  dearest  youth,  your  friend  and 
admirer,  NESTOR  IRONSIDE.’ 


No.  91.]  Thursday,  June  25,  1713. 

Inest  sua  gratia  parvis. 

Little  things  have  their  value. 

It  is  the  great  rule  of  behaviour  to  follow  na- 
ture. The  author  of  the  following  letter  is  so 
much  convinced  of  this  truth,  that  he  turns 
what  would  render  a man  of  little  soul  excep- 
tious,  humoursome,  and  particular  in  all  his  ac- 
tions, to  a subject  of  raillery  and  mirth.  He  is, 
you  must  know,  but  half  as  tall  as  an  ordinary 
man,  but  is  contented  to  be  still  at  his  friend’s 
elbow,  and  has  set  up  a club,  by  which  he  hopes 
to  bring  those  of  his  own  size  into  a little  repu- 
tation. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘ Sir, — 1 remember  a saying  of  yours  con- 
cerning persons  in  low  circumstances  of  stature, 
that  their  littleness  would  hardly  be  taken  no- 


No.  92.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


131 


tice  of^  if  they  did  not  manifest  a consciousness 
of  it  themselves  in  all  their  behaviour.  Indeed, 
the  observation  that  no  man  is  ridiculous  for 
being  what  he  is,  but  only  in  the  affectation  of 
being  something  more,  is  equally  true  in  regard 
to  the  mind  and  the  body. 

‘ I question  not  but  it  will  be  pleasing  to  you 
to  hear  that  a set  of  us  have  formed  a society, 
who  are  sworn  to  “ dare  to  be  short,”  and  boldly 
bear  out  the  dignity  of  littleness  under  the  noses 
of  those  enormous  engrossers  of  manhood,  those 
hyperbolical  monsters  of  the  species,  the  tall 
fellows  that  overlook  us. 

‘ The  day  of  our  institution  was  the  tenth  of 
December,  being  the  shortest  of  the  year,  on 
which  we  are  to  hold  an  annual  feast  over  a 
dish  of  shrimps. 

‘ The  place  we  have  chosen  for  this  meeting 
is  in  the  Little  Piazza,  not  without  an  eye  to 
the  neighbourhood  of  Mr.  Powel’s  opera,  for  the 
performers  of  which  we  have,  as  becomes  us,  a 
brotherly  affection. 

‘At  our  first  resort  hither  an  old  woman 
brought  her  son  to  the  club-room,  desiring  he 
might  be  educated  in  this  school,  because  she 
saw  hero  were  finer  boys  than  ordinary.  How- 
ever, this  accident  no  way  discouraged  our  de- 
signs. We  began  with  sending  invitations  to 
those  of  a stature  not  exceeding  five  feel,  to 
repair  to  our  assembly  ; but  the  greater  part  re- 
turned excuses,  or  pretended  ihey  were  not 
qualified. 

‘ One  said  he  was  indeed  but  five  feet  at  pre- 
sent, but  represented  that  he  should  soon  exceed 
that  proportion,  his  periwig-maker  and  shoe- 
maker having  lately  promised  him  three  inches 
more  betwixt  them. 

‘ Another  alleged,  he  was  so  unfortunate  as 
to  have  one  leg  shorter  than  the  other,  and  who- 
ever had  determined  his  stature  to  five  feet,  had 
taken  him  at  a disadvantage ; for  when  he  was 
mounted  on  the  other  leg,  he  was  at  least  five 
feet  two  inches  and  a half. 

‘ There  were  some  who  questioned  the  exact- 
ness of  our  measures ; and  others,  instead  of 
complying,  returned  us  informations  of  people 
yet  shorter  than  themselves.  In  a word,  almost 
every  one  recommended  some  neighbour  or  ac- 
quaintance, whom  he  was  willing  we  should 
look  upon  to  be  less  than  he.  We  were  not  a 
little  ashamed  that  those  who  are  past  the  years 
of  growth,  and  whose  beards  pronounce  them 
men,  should  be  guilty  of  as  many  unfair  tricks 
in  this  point,  as  the  most  aspiring  children 
when  they  are  measured. 

‘We  therefore  proceeded  to  fit  up  the  club- 
room,  and  provide  conveniences  for  our  accom- 
modation. In  the  first  place  we  caused  a total 
removal  of  all  the  chairs,  stools,  and  tables,  which 
had  served  the  gross  of  mankind  for  many 
years.  The  disadvantages  we  had  undergone 
while  we  made  use  of  these,  were  unspeakable. 
The  president’s  whole  body  was  sunk  in  the  el- 
bow chair  : and  when  his  arms  were  spread 
over  it,  he  appeared  (to  the  great  lessening  of 
his  dignity)  like  a child  in  a go-cart.  It  was 
also  so  wide  in  the  seat,  as  to  give  a wag  occa- 
sion  of  saying,  that  notwithstanding  the  presi- 
dent sat  in  it,  it  was  a sede  vacante. 

‘ The  table  was  so  high,  that  one  who  came  by 


chance  to  the  door,  seeing  our  chins  just  above 
the  pewter  dishes,  took  us  for  a circle  of  men 
that  sat  ready  to  be  shaved,  and  sent  in  lialf  a 
dozen  barbers.  Another  time  one  of  tlie  club 
spoke  contumeliously  of  the  president,  imagin- 
ing he  had  been  absent,  when  he  was  only 
eclipsed  by  a flask  of  Florence  which  stood  on 
the  table  in  a parallel  line  before  his  face.  We 
therefore  new-furnished  the  room  in  all  respects 
proportionably  to  us,  and  had  the  door  made 
lower,  so  as  to  admit  no  man  of  above  five  feet 
high,  without  brushing  his  foretop,  which  who- 
ever does  is  utterly  unqualified  to  sit  among  us. 

^ Some  of  the  statutes  of  the  club  are  as  follow: 

‘I.  If  it  be  proved  upon  any  member,  though 
never  so  duly  qualified,  that  he  strives  as  much 
as  possible  to  get  above  his  size,  by  stretching, 
cocking,  or  the  like  ; or  that  he  hath  stood  on 
tiptoe  in  a crowd,  with  design  to  be  taken  for  as 
tall  a man  as  the  rest ; or  hath  privily  conveyed 
any  large  book,  cricket,  or  other  device  under 
him,  to  exalt  him  on  his  seat:  every  sucli  of- 
fender shall  be  sentenced  to  walk  in  pumps  for 
a whole  month. 

‘II.  If  any  member  shall  take  advantage, 
from  the  fulness  or  length  of  his  wig,  or  any 
part  of  his  dress,  or  the  immoderate  extent  of 
his  hat,  or  otherwise,  to  seem  larger  or  higher 
than  he  is ; it  is  ordered,  he  shall  wear  red 
heels  to  his  shoes,  and  a red  feather  in  his  liat, 
which  may  apparently  mark  and  set  bounds  to 
the  extremities  of  his  small  dimension,  that  all 
people  may  readily  find  him  out  between  his  hat 
and  his  shoes. 

‘ III.  If  any  member  shall  purchase  a horse 
for  his  own  riding  above  fourteen  hands  and 
a half  in  height,  that  horse  shall  forthwith  be 
sold,  a Scotch  galloway  bought  in  its  stead  for 
him,  and  the  overplus  of  the  money  shall  treat 
the  club. 

‘ IV.  If  any  member,  in  direct  contradic- 
tion to  the  fundamental  laws  of  the  society, 
shall  wear  the  heels  of  his  shoes  exceeding  one 
inch  and  a half,  it  shall  be  interpreted  as  an 
open  renunciation  of  littleness,  and  the  criminal 
shall  instantly  be  expelled.  Note,  The  form  to 
be  used  in  expelling  a member  shall  be  in  these 
words,  “ Go  from  among  us  and  be  tall  if  you 
can  !” 

‘ It  is  the  unanimous  opinion  of  our  whole 
society,  that  since  the  race  of  mankind  is 
granted  to  have  decreased  in  stature  from  the 
beginning  to  this  present,  it  is  the  intent  of  na- 
ture itself)  that  men  should  be  little  ; and  we  be- 
lieve that  all  human  kind  shall  at  last  grow 
down  to  perfection,  that  is  to  say,  be  reduced  to 
our  own  measure.  I am,  very  literally,  your 
humble  servant,  BOB  SHORT.’ 


No.  92.]  Friday,  June  26,  1713. 

Homunculi  quanti  sunt,  cumrecogito!  Plautus. 
Now  I recollect,  how  considerable  are  these  little  men! 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esq. 

‘Sir, — The  club  rising  early  this  evening,  I 
have  time  to  finish  my  account  of  it.  You  are 


132 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


already  acquainted  with  the  nature  and  design 
of  our  institution ; the  characters  of  the  mem- 
bers,  and  the  topics  of  our  conversation,  are 
what  remain  for  the  subject  of  this  epistle. 

‘ The  most  eminent  persons  of  our  assembly 
are,  a little  poet,  a little  lover,  a little  politician, 
and  a little  hero.  The  first  of  these,  Dick  Dis- 
tich by  name,  we  have  elected  president,  not 
only  as  he  is  the  shortest  of  us  all,  but  because 
he  has  entertained  so  just  a sense  of  the  stature, 
as  to  go  generally  in  black,  that  he  may  appear 
yet  less.  Nay,  to  that  perfection  is  he  arrived, 
that  he  stoops  as  he  walks.  The  figure  of  the 
man  is  odd  enough : he  is  a lively  little  crea- 
ture, with  long  arms  and  legs  : a spider  is  no  ill 
emblem  of  him.  He  has  been  taken  at  a dis- 
tance for  a small  windmill.  But  indeed  what 
principally  moved  us  in  his  favour  was  his  talent 
in  poetry,  for  he  hath  promised  to  undertake  a 
long  work  in  short  verse  to  celebrate  the  heroes 
of  our  size.  He  has  entertained  so  great  a re- 
spect for  Statius,  on  the  score  of  that  line, 

“Major  in  e.\iguo  regnabat  corpore  virtus.” 

“ A larger  portion  of  heroic  fire 

Did  his  small  limbs  and  little  breast  inspire  ’’ 

that  he  once  designed  to  translate  the  whole 
Thebaid  for  the  sake  of  little  Tydeus. 

‘ Tom  Tiptoe,  a dapper  black  fellow,  is  the 
most  gallant  lover  of  the  age.  He  is  particu- 
larly nice  in  his  habiliments ; and  to  the  end 
justice  may  be  done  him  that  way,  constantly 
employs  the  same  artist  who  makes  attire 
for  the  neighbouring  princes  and  ladies  of 
quality  at  Mr.  Bowel’s.  The  vivacity  of  his 
temper  inclines  him  sometimes  to  boast  of  the 
favours  of  the  fair.  He  was  the  other  night 
excusing  his  absence  from  the  club  upon  account 
of  an  assignation  with  a lady,  (and,  as  he  had 
the  vanity  to  tell  us,  a tall  one  too)  who  had 
consented  to  the  full  accomplishment  of  his  de- 
sires that  evening ; but  one  of  the  company, 
who  was  his  confidant,  assured  us  she  was  a 
woman  of  humour,  and  made  the  agreement  on 
this  condition,  that  his  toe  should  be  tied  to 
hers. 

‘Our  politician  is  a person  of  real  gravity, 
and  professed  w’isdorru  Gravity  in  a man  of 
this  size,  compared  with  that  of  one  of  ordinary 
bulk,  appears  like  the  gravity  of  a cat  compared 
with  that  of  a lion.  This  gentleman  is  accus- 
tomed to  talk  to  himself,  and  was  once  overheard 
to  compare  his  own  person  to  a little  cabinet, 
wherein  are  locked  up  all  the  secrets  of  state, 
and  refined  schemes  of  princes.  His  face  is 
pale  and  meagre,  which  proceeds  from  much 
watching  and  studying  for  the  welfare  of  Eu- 
rope, which  is  also  thought  to  have  stinted  his 
growth : for  he  hath  destroyed  his  own  consti- 
tution w'ith  taking  care  of  that  of  the  nation. 
He  is  what  Mons.  Balzac  calls  “a  great  distiller 
of  the  maxims  of  Tacitus.”  When  he  speaks, 
it  is  slowly,  and  word  by  word,  as  one  that  is 
loth  to  enrich  you  too  fast  with  his  observations  : 
like  a limbec,  that  gives  you,  drop  by  drop,  an 
extract  of  the  simples  in  it. 

‘ The  last  I shall  mention  is  Tim  Tuck,  the 
hero.  He  is  particularly  remarkable  for  the 
length  of  his  sword,  which  intersects  his  person 
in  a cross  line,  and  makes  him  appear  not  un- 


[No.  92. 

I like  a fly  that  the  boys  have  run  a pin  through 
I and  set  a walking.  He  once  challenged  a tali 
I fellow  for  giving  him  a blow  on  the  pate  with 
I his  elbow’  as  he  passed  along  the  street.  But 
j what  he  especially  values  himself  upon  is,  that 
' in  all  the  campaigns  he  has  made,  he  never 
once  ducked  at  the  whiz  of  a cannon-ball.  Tim 
was  full  as  large  at  fourteen  years  old  as  he  is 
now’.  This  we  are  tender  of  mentioning,  your 
little  heroes  being  generally  choleric. 

‘ These  are  the  gentlemen  that  most  enliven 
' our  conversation.  The  discourse  generally  turns 
upon  such  accidents,  whether  fortunate  or  un- 
fortunate,  as  are  daily  occasioned  by  our  size. 
These  we  faithfully  communicate,  either  as 
matter  of  mirth,  or  of  consolation  to  each  other. 
The  president  had  lately  an  unlucky  fall,  being 
unable  to  keep  his  legs  on  a stormy  day  ; where- 
upon he  informed  us,  it  was  no  new  disaster, 
but  the  same  a certain  ancient  poet  had  been 
subject  to,  who  is  recorded  to  have  been  so  light, 
that  he  was  obliged  to  poise  himself  against  the 
wind  with  lead  on  one  side  and  his  own  works 
on  the  other.  The  lover  confessed  the  other 
night  that  he  had  been  cured  of  love  to  a tall 
woman  by  reading  over  the  legend  of  Ragotine 
in  Scarron,  with  his  tea,  three  mornings  suc- 
cessively. Our  hero  rarely  acquaints  us  with 
any  of  his  unsuccessful  adventures.  And  as 
for  the  politician,  he  declares  himself  an  utter 
enemy  to  all  kind  of  burlesque,  so  will  never 
discompose  the  austerity  of  his  aspect  by  laugh- 
ing at  our  adventures,  much  less  discover  any 
of  his  own  in  this  ludicrous  light.  Whatever 
he  tells  of  any  accidents  that  tefall  him,  is  by 
way  of  complaint,  nor  is  he  to  be  laughed  at, 
but  in  his  absence. 

‘ We  are  likewise  particularly  careful  to  com- 
municate in  the  club  all  such  passages  of  his- 
tory, or  characters  of  illustrious  personages,  as 
any  w’ay  reflect  honour  on  little  men.  Tim 
Tuck  having  but  just  reading  enough  for  a mili- 
tary man,  perpetually  entertains  us  with  the 
same  stories,  of  little  David,  that  conquered  the 
I mighty  Goliah,  and  little  Luxembourg,  that 
made  Louis  XIV.  a grand  mcnarque,  never  for- 
I getting  little  Alexander  the  Great.  Dick  Dis- 
I tich  celebrates  the  exceeding  humanity  of 
' Augustus,  w'ho  called  Horace  Lepidissimum 
j Homunciolum  ; and  is  wonderfully  pleased  with 
i Voiture  and  Scarron,  for  having  so  well  de- 
! scribed  their  diminutive  forms  to  all  posterity. 
He  is  peremptorily  of  opinion,  against  a great 
reader,  and  all  his  adherents,  that  -Esop  was 
not  a jot  properer  or  handsomer  than  he  is  re- 
presented by  the  common  pictures.  But  the 
soldier  believes  with  the  learned  person  above- 
mentioned  ; for  he  thinks,  none  but  an  impudent 
tall  author  could  be  guilty  of  such  an  unman- 
nerly piece  of  satire  on  little  warriors,  as  his 
battle  of  the  mouse  and  the  frog.  The  politician 
is  very  proud  of  a certain  king  of  Egypt,  called 
Bocchor,  who,  as  Diodorus  assures  us,  was  a 
i person  of  very  low  stature,  but  far  exceeded  all 
that  went  before  him  in  discretion  and  politics, 
j ‘ As  I am  secretary  to  tlie  club,  it  is  my  bu- 
, siness  whenever  we  meet  to  take  minutes  of  the 
I transactions.  This  has  enabled  me  to  send  you 
I the  foregoing  particulars,  as  I may  hereafter 
1 other  memoirs.  We  have  spies  appointed  in 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


133 


No.  93.] 

every  quarter  of  the  town,  to  give  us  informa- 
tions of  the  misbehaviour  of  such  refractory 
persons  as  refuse  to  be  subject  to  our  statutes. 
Whatsoever  aspiring  practices  any  of  these  our 
people  shall  be  guilty  of  in  their  amours,  single 
combats,  or  any  indirect  means  to  manhood,  we 
shall  certainly  be  acquainted  with,  and  publish 
to  the  world  for  their  punishment  and  reforma- 
tion. For  the  president  has  granted  me  the  sole 
property  of  exposing  and  showing  to  the  town 
all  such  intractable  dwarfs,  whose  circum- 
stances exempt  them  from  being  carried  about 
in  boxes  ; reserving  only  to  himself,  as  the  right 
of  a poet,  those  smart  characters  that  will  shine 
in  epigrams.  Venerable  Nestor,  I salute  you  in 
the  name  of  the  club. 

‘ BOB  SHORT,  Secretary.'' 


No.  93.]  Saturday,  June  27,  1713. 

Est  animus  lucis  contemptor.  Virg.  iEn.  ix.  205. 

The  thing  call’d  life  with  ease  lean  disclaim.  Dryden. 

The  following  letters  are  curious  and  instruc- 
tive, and  shall  make  up  the  business  of  the  day. 

‘ To  the  Author  of  the  Guardian. 

‘ June  25,  1713. 

‘ Sir, — The  inclosed  is  a faithful  translation 
from  an  old  author,  which,  if  it  deserves  your 
notice,  let  the  readers  guess  whether  he  was  a 
heathen  or  a Christian.  I am,  your  most  hum- 
ble servant.’ 

“ I cannot,  my  friends,  forbear  letting  you 
know  what  I think  of  death;  for  methinks  I 
view  and  understand  it  much  better,  the  nearer 
I approach  to  it.  I am  convinced  that  your 
fathers,  those  illustrious  persons  whom  I so 
much  loved  and  honoured,  do  not  cease  to  live, 
though  they  have  passed  through  what  we  call 
death ; they  are  undoubtedly  still  living,  but  it 
is  that  sort  of  life  which  alone  deserves  truly  to 
be  called  life.  In  effect,  while  we  are  confined 
to  bodies,  we  ought  to  esteem  ourselves  no  other 
than  a sort  of  galley-slaves  at  the  chain,  since 
the  soul,  which  is  somewhat  divine,  and  de- 
scends from  heaven  as  the  place  of  its  original, 
seems  debased  and  dishonoured  by  the  mixture 
with  flesh  and  blood,  and  to  be  in  a state  of 
banishment  from  its  celestial  country.  I cannot 
help  thinking  too,  that  one  main  reason  of  unit- 
ing souls  to  bodies  was,  that  the  great  work  of 
the  universe  might  have  spectators  to  admire 
the  beautiful  order  of  nature,  the  regular  motion 
of  heavenly  bodies,  who  should  strive  to  express 
that  regularity  in  the  uniformity  of  their  lives. 
When  I consider  the  boundless  activity  of  our 
minds,  the  remembrance  we  have  of  things 
past,  our  foresight  of  what  is  to  come;  when  I 
reflect  on  the  noble  discoveries  and  vast  im- 
provements, by  which  these  minds  have  ad- 
vanced arts  and  sciences ; I am  entirely  per- 
suaded, and  out  of  all  doubt  that  a nature  which 
has  in  itself  a fund  of  so  many  excellent  things 
cannot  possibly  be  mortal.  I observe  further, 
that  my  mind  is  altogether  simple,  without  the 
mixture  of  any  substance  or  nature  different 
from  its  own ; I conclude  from  thence  that  it 
is  indivisible,  and  consequently  cannot  perish. 


I “ By  no  means  think,  therefore,  my  dear 
I friends,  when  I shall  have  quitted  you,  that  I 
I cease  to  be,  or  shall  subsist  no  where.  Remem- 
ber that  while  we  live  together,  you  do  not  seo 
my  mind,  and  yet  are  sure  that  I have  one  ac- 
tuating and  moving  my  body  ; doubt  not  then 
but  that  this  same  mind  will  have  a being  when 
it  is  separated,  though  you  cannot  then  perceive 
its  actions.  What  nonsense  would  it  be  to  pay 
those  honours  to  great  men  after  their  deaths, 
which  we  constantly  do,  if  their  souls  did  not 
then  subsist?  For  my  own  part,  I could  never 
imagine  that  our  minds  live  only  when  united 
to  bodies,  and  die  when  they  leave  them ; or 
that  they  shall  cease  to  think  and  understand 
when  disengaged  from  bodies,  which,  without 
them,  have  neither  sense  nor  reason : on  the 
contrary,  I believe  the  soul  when  separated 
from  matter,  to  enjoy  the  greatest  purity  and 
simplicity  of  its  nature,  and  to  have  much  more 
wisdom  and  light  than  while  it  was  united. 
We  see  when  the  body  dies  what  becomes  of 
all  the  parts  which  composed  it ; but  we  do  not 
see  the  mind,  either  in  the  body,  or  when  it 
leaves  it.  Nothing  more  resembles  death  than 
sleep,  and  it  is  in  that  state  that  the  soul  chipfly 
shows  it  has  something  divine  in  its  nature. 
How  much  more  then  must  it  show  it  when  en- 
tirely disengaged  ?” 

‘ To  the  A uthor  of  the  Guardian. 

‘ Sir, — Since  you  have  not  refused  to  insert 
matters  of  a theological  nature  in  those  excel- 
lent papers  with  which  you  daily  both  instruct 
and  divert  us,  I earnestly  desire  you  to  print 
the  following  paper.  The  notions  therein  ad- 
vanced are,  for  aught  I know,  new  to  the  Eng- 
lish reader,  and  if  they  are  true,  will  affbrd 
room  for  many  useful  inferences. 

‘ No  man  that  reads  the  evangelists,  but  must 
observe  that  our  blessed  Saviour  does  upon  every 
occasion  bend  all  his  force  and  zeal  to  rebuke 
and  correct  the  hypocrisy  of  the  Pharisees. 
Upon  that  subject  he  shows  a warmth  which  one 
meets  with  in  no  other  part  of  his  sermons. 
They  were  so  enraged  at  this  public  detection 
of  their  secret  villanies,  by  one  who  saw  through 
all  their  disguises,  that  they  joined  in  the  pro- 
secution of  him,  which  was  so  vigorous,  that 
Pilate  at  last  consented  to  his  death.  The  fre- 
quency and  vehemence  of  these  representations 
of  our  Lord,  have  made  the  word  Pharisee  to  be 
looked  upon  as  odious  among  Christians,  and  to 
mean  only  one  who  lays  the  utmost  stress  upon 
the  outward,  ceremonial,  and  ritual  part  of  his 
religion,  without  having  such  an  inward  sense 
of  it,  as  would  lead  him  to  a general  and  sincere 
observance  of  those  duties  which  can  only  arise 
from  the  heart,  and  which  cannot  be  supposed 
to  spring  from  a desire  of  applause  or  profit. 

‘ This  is  plain  from  the  history  of  the  life  and 
actions  of  our  Lord  in  the  four  evangelists.  One 
of  them,  St.  Luke,  continued  his  history  down 
in  a second  part,  which  we  commonly  call  The 
Acts  of  the  Apostles.  Now  it  is  observable, 
that  in  this  second  part,  in  which  he  gives  a 
particular  account  of  what  the  apostles  did  and 
suffered  at  Jerusalem  upon  their  first  entering 
upon  their  commission,  and  also  of  what  St.  Paul 
did  after  he  was  consecrated  to  the  apostleship 
12 


134 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  93. 


until  his  journey  to  Rome,  we  find  not  only  no 
opposition  to  Christianity  from  the  Pharisees, 
but  several  signal  occasions  in  which  they  as- 
sisted its  first  teachers,  when  the  Christian 
church  was  in  its  infant  state.  The  true,  zea- 
lous, and  hearty  persecutors  of  Christianity  at 
that  time  were  the  Sadducees,  whom  we  may 
truly  call  the  free-thinkers  among  the  Jews. 
They  believed  neither  resurrection,  nor  angel, 
nor  spirit,  i.  e.  in  plain  English,  they  were 
deists  at  least,  if  not  atheists.  They  could  out- 
wardly comply  with,  and  conform  to  the  esta- 
blishment in  church  and  state,  and  they  pre- 
tended, forsooth,  to  belong  only  to  a particular 
sect ; and  because  there  was  nothing  in  the  law 
of  Moses  which  in  so  many  words  asserted  a 
resurrection,  they  appeared  to  adhere  to  that  in 
a particular  manner  beyond  any  other  part  of 
the  Old  Testament.  These  men,  therefore,  justly 
dreaded  the  spreading  of  Christianity  after  the 
ascension  of  our  Lord,  because  it  was  wholly 
founded  upon  his  resurrection. 

‘ Accordingly,  therefore,  when  Peter  and  John 
had  cured  the  lame  man  at  the  beautiful  gate  of 
the  temple,  and  had  thereby  raised  a wonderful 
expectation  of  themselves  among  the  people, 
the  priests  and  Sadducees,  (Acts  iv,)  clapt  them 
up,  and  sent  them  away  for  the  first  time  with 
a severe  reprimand.  Quickly  after,  when  the 
deaths  of  Ananias  and  Sapphira,  and  the  many 
miracles  wrought  after  those  severe  instances 
of  the  apostolical  power  had  alarmed  the  priests, 
who  looked  upon  the  temple-worship,  and  con- 
sequently their  bread,  to  be  struck  at;  these 
priests,  and  all  they  that  were  with  them,  who 
were  of  the  sect  of  the  Sadducees,  imprisoned 
the  apostles,  intending  to  examine  them  in  the 
great  council  the  next  day.  Where,  when  the 
council  met,  and  the  priests  and  Sadducees  pro- 
posed to  proceed  with  great  rigour  against  them, 
we  find  that  Gamaliel,  a very  eminent  Pharisee, 
Saint  Paul’s  master,  a man  of  great  authority 
among  the  people,  many  of  whose  determinations 
we  have  still  preserved  in  the  body  of  the  Jewish 
traditions,  commonly  called  the  Talmud,  op- 
posed their  heat,  and  told  them,  for  aught  they 
knew,  the  apostles  might  be  actuated  by  the  Spi- 
rit of  God,  and  that  in  such  a case  it  would  be  in 
vain  to  oppose  them,  since,  if  they  did  so,  they 
would  only  fight  against  God,  whom  they  could 
not  overcome.  Gamaliel  was  so  considerable  a 
man  among  his  own  sect,  that  we  may  reason- 
ably believe  he  spoke  the  sense  of  his  party  as 
well  as  his  own.  St.  Stephen’s  martyrdom  came 
on  presently  after,  in  which  we  do  not  find  the 
Pharisees,  as  such,  had  any  hand  ; it  is  probable 
that  he  was  prosecuted  by  those  who  had  before 
imprisoned  Peter  and  John.  One  novice  indeed 
of  that  sect  was  so  zealous,  that  he  kept  tlie 
clothes  of  those  that  stoned  him.  This  novice, 
whose  zeal  went  beyond  all  bounds,  was  the 
great  St.  Paul,  who  was  peculiarly  honoured 
with  a call  from  heaven,  by  which  he  was  con- 
verted, and  he  was  afterwards,  by  God  himself, 
appointed  to  be  the  apostle  of  the  Gentiles.  Be- 
sides him,  and  him  too  reclaimed  in  so  glorious 
a manner,  we  find  no  one  Pharisee,  either 
named  or  hinted  at  by  St.  Luke,  as  an  opposer 
of  Christianity  in  those  earliest  days.  What 
others  might  do  we  know  not.  But  we  find  the 


Sadducees  pursuing  St.  Paul  even  to  death  at 
his  coming  to  Jerusalem,  in  the  twenty-first  of 
the  Acts.  He  then,  upon  all  occasions,  owned 
himself  to  be  a Pharisee.  In  the  twenty-second 
chapter  he  told  the  people,  that  he  had  been  bred 
up  at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel  after  the  strictest 
manner,  in  the  law  of  his  fathers.  In  the  twen- 
ty-third chapter  he  told  the  council  that  he  was 
a Pharisee,  the  son  of  a Pharisee,  and  that  he 
w’as  accused  for  asserting  the  hope  and  resur- 
rection of  the  dead,  which  was  their  darling 
doctrine.  Hereupon  the  Pharisees  stood  by 
him,  and  though  they  did  not  own  our  Saviour 
to  be  the  Messiah,  yet  they  would  not  deny  but 
some  angel  or  spirit  might  have  spoken  to  him, 
and  then  if  they  opposed  him,  they  should  fight 
against  God.  This  was  the  very  argument 
Gamaliel  had  used  before.  The  resurrection 
of  our  Lord,  which  they  saw  so  strenuously 
asserted  by  the  apostles,  whose  miracles  they 
also  saw  and  owned,  (Acts  iv.  16,)  seems  to 
have  struck  them,  and  many  of  them  were  con- 
verted (Acts  XV.  5,)  even  without  a miracle,  and 
the  rest  stood  still  and  made  no  opposition. 

‘ We  see  here  what  the  part  was,  which  the 
Pharisees  acted  in  this  important  conjuncture. 

Of  the  Sadducees,  we  meet  not  with  one  in  the 
whole  apostolic  history  that  was  converted.  We 
hear  of  no  miracles  wrought  to  convince  any  of 
them,  though  there  was  an  eminent  one  wrought 
to  reclaim  a Pharisee.  St.  Paul  we  see,  after 
his  conversion,  always  gloried  in  his  having 
been  bred  a Pharisee.  He  did  so  to  the  people 
of  Jerusalem,  to  the  great  council,  to  king 
Agrippa,  and  to  the  Philippians.  So  that  from 
hence  we  may  justly  infer,  that  it  was  not  their 
institution,  which  was  in  itself  laudable,  which 
our  blessed  Saviour  found  fault  with,  but  it  was 
their  hypocrisy,  their  covetousness,  their  op- 
pression, their  overvaluing  themselves  upon 
their  zeal  for  the  ceremonial  law,  and  their  ad- 
ding to  that  yoke  by  their  traditions,  all  which 
were  not  properly  essentials  of  their  institution, 
that  our  Lord  blamed. 

‘ But  I must  not  run  on.  What  I would  ob- 
serve, sir,  is  that  atheism  is  more  dreadful,  and 
would  be  more  grievous  to  human  society,  if  it 
were  invested  with  sufficient  power,  than  reli- 
gion under  any  shape,  where  its  professors  do 
at  the  bottom  believe  what  they  profess.  I I 
despair  not  of  a papist’s  conversion,  though  I I 
would  not  willingly  lie  at  a zealot  papist’s  mer- 
cy, (and  no  protestant  would,  if  he  knew  what  ' 
popery  is)  though  he  truly  believes  in  our  Sa- 
viour. But  the  free-thinker,  who  scarcely  be-  j 
lieves  there  is  a God,  and  certainly  disbelieves  re- 
velation, is  a very  terrible  animal.  He  will  talk 
of  natural  rights,  and  the  just  freedoms  of  man- 
kind, no  longer  than  until  he  himself  gets  into 
power  ; and  by  the  instance  before  us,  we  have 
small  grounds  to  hope  for  his  salvation,  or  that 
God  will  ever  vouchsafe  him  sufficient  grace  to 
reclaim  him  from  errors,  which  have  been  so 
immediately  levelled  against  himself. 

‘ If  these  notions  be  true,  as  I verily  believe 
they  are,  I thought  they  might  be  worth  pub- 
lishing at  this  time,  for  which  reason  they  are 
sent  in  this  manner  to  you  by,  sir,  your  most  • 
humble  servant, 

‘M.  N.’ 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


135 


No.  94.] 

No.  94.]  Monday^  June  29,  1713. 

Ingeniiim,  pibi  quod  vacuas  desumpsit  Athenas, 

Et  studiis  annosseptein  dedit,  inseniiitque 
Libris  et  curis  ; statua  taciturniiis  exit 

rierumque,  ct  risu  populuin  quatit 

Hor.  Lib.  2.  Ep.  ii.  Bl. 

IMITATED. 

The  man,  who  stretch’d  in  Isis’  calm  retreat, 

To  books  and  study  gives  seven  years  complete. 

See  ! strow’d  with  learned  dust,  his  night  cap  on, 

He  walks,  an  object  new  beneath  the  sun  ! 

The  boys  flock  round  him,  and  the  people  stare  ; 

So  stiff,  so  mute ! some  statue,  you  would  swear, 
Stept  from  its  pedestal  to  take  the  air.  Pope. 

Since  our  success  in  worldly  matters  may  be 
said  to  depend  upon  our  education,  it  w'ill  be 
very  much  to  the  purpose  to  inquire  if  the 
foundations  of  our  fortune  could  not  be  laid 
deeper  and  surer  than  they  are.  The  education 
of  youth  falls  of  necessity  under  the  direction 
of  those  who,  through  fondness  to  us  and  our 
abilities,  as  well  as  to  their  own  unwarrantable 
conjectures,  are  very  likely  to  be  deceived  ; and 
the  misery  of  it  is,  that  the  poor  creatures,  who 
are  the  sufferers  upon  wrong  advances,  seldom 
find  out  the  errors,  until  they  become  irretrieva- 
ble. As  the  greater  number  of  all  degrees  and 
conditions  have  their  education  at  the  universi- 
ties, the  errors  which  I conceive  to  be  in  those 
places,  fall  most  naturally  under  the  following 
observation.  The  first  mismanagement  in  these 
public  nurseries,  is  the  calling  together  a num- 
ber of  pupils,  of  howsoever  different  ages,  views, 
and  capacities,  to  the  same  lectures:  but  surely 
there  can  be  no  reason  to  think,  that  a delicate 
tender  babe,  just  weaned  from  the  bosom  of  his 
mother,  indulged  in  all  the  impertinencies  of 
his  heart’s  desire,  should  bo  equally  capable  of 
receiving  a lecture  of  philosophy,  with  a hardy 
ruffian  of  full  age,  who  has  been  occasionally 
scourged  through  some  of  the  great  schools, 
groaned  under  constant  rebuke  and  chastise- 
ment, and  maintained  a ten  years’  war  with 
literature,  under  very  strict  and  rugged  disci- 
pline. 

I know  the  reader  has  pleased  himself  with 
an  answer  to  this  already,  viz.  That  an  attention 
to  the  particular  abilities  and  designs  of  the 
pupil  cannot  be  expected  from  the  trifling  salary 
paid  upon  such  account.  The  price,  indeed, 
which  is  thought  a sufficient  reward  for  any 
advantages  a youth  can  receive  from  a man  of 
learning,  is  an  abominable  consideration  ; the 
enlarging  which  would  not  only  increase  the 
care  of  tutors,  but  would  be  a very  great  en- 
couragement to  such  as  designed  to  take  this 
province  upon  them,  to  furnish  themselves  with 
a more  general  and  extensive  knowledge.  As 
the  case  now  stands,  those  of  the  first  quality 
pay  their  tutors  but  little  above  half  so  much  as 
they  do  their  footmen : what  morality,  what 
history,  what  taste  of  the  modern  languages, 
what  lastly,  that  can  make  a man  happy  or 
great,  may  not  be  expected  in  return  for  such 
an  immense  treasure  ! It  is  monstrous,  indeed, 
that  the  men  of  the  best  estates  and  families, 
are  more  solicitous  about  the  tutelage  of  a fa- 
vourite dog  or  horse,  than  of  their  heirs  male. 
The  next  evil  is  the  pedantical  veneration  that 
is  maintained  at  the  university  for  the  Greek 
and  Latin,  which  puts  the  youth  upon  such  ex- 


ercises as  many  of  them  are  incapable  of  per- 
forming with  any  tolerable  success.  Upon  this 
emergency  they  are  succoured  by  the  allowed 
wits  of  their  respective  colleges,  who  are  al- 
ways ready  to  befriend  them  with  two  or  three 
hundred  Latin  or  Greek  words  thrown  together 
with  a very  small  proportion  of  sense. 

But  the  most  established  error  of  our  uni- 
versity education,  is  the  general  neglect  of  all 
the  little  qualifications  and  accomplishments 
which  make  up  the  character  of  a well-bred 
man,  and  the  general  attention  to  what  is  called 
deep  learning.  But  as  there  are  very  few 
blessed  with  a genius  that  shall  force  success  by 
the  strength  of  itself  alone,  and  few  occasions 
of  life  that  require  the  aid  of  such  genius;  the 
vast  majority  of  the  unblessed  souls  ought  to 
store  themselves  with  such  acquisitions,  in 
which  every  man  has  capacity  to  make  a con- 
siderable progress,  and  from  which  every  com- 
mon occasion  of  life  may  reap  great  advantage. 
The  persons  that  may  be  useful  to  us  in  the 
making  our  fortunes,  are  such  as  are  already 
happy  in  their  own  ; I may  proceed  to  say,  that 
the  men  of  figure  and  family  are  more  superfi- 
cial in  their  education,  than  those  of  a less  de- 
gree, and  of  course,  are  ready  to  encourage  and 
protect  that  qualification  in  another,  which  they 
themselves  are  masters  of.  For  their  own 
application  implies  the  pursuit  of  something 
commendable ; and  when  they  see  their  own 
characters  proposed  as  imitable,  they  must  be 
won  by  such  an  irresistible  flattery.  But  those 
of  the  university,  who  are  to  make  their  for- 
tunes by  a ready  insinuation  into  the  favour  of 
their  superiors,  contemn  this  necessary  foppery 
so  far,  as  not  to  be  able  to  speak  common  sense 
to  them  without  hesitation,  perplexity,  and  con- 
fusion. For  want  of  care  in  acquiring  less  ac- 
complishments which  adorn  ordinary  life,  he 
that  is  so  unhappy  as  to  be  born  poor,  is  con- 
demned to  a method  that  will  very  probably 
keep  him  so. 

I hope  all  the  learned  will  forgive  me  what  is 
said  purely  for  their  service,  and  tends  to  no  other 
injury  against  them,  than  admonishing  them 
not  to  overlook  such  little  qualifications  as  they 
every  day  see  defeat  their  greater  excellencies 
in  the  pursuit  both  of  reputation  and  fortune. 

If  the  youth  of  the  university  were  to  be  ad- 
vanced according  to  their  sufficiency  in  the 
severe  progress  of  learning : or,  ‘ riches  could 
be  secured  to  men  of  understanding,  and  favour 
to  men  of  skill;’  then  indeed  all  studies  were 
solemnly  to  be  defied,  that  did  not  seriously 
pursue  the  main  end  ; but  since  our  merit  is 
to  be  tried  by  the  unskilful  many,  we  must 
gratify  the  sense  of  the  injudicious  majority, 
satisfying  ourselves  that  the  shame  of  a trivial 
qualification  sticks  only  upon  him  that  prefers 
it  to  one  more  substantial.  The  more  accom- 
plishments a man  is  master  of,  the  better  is  he 
prepared  for  a more  extended  acquaintance,  and 
upon  these  considerations,  without  doubt,  the 
author  of  the  Italian  book  called  II  Cortegiano, 
or.  The  Courtier,  makes  throwing  the  bar, 
vaulting  the  horse,  nay  even  wrestling,  with 
several  other  as  low  qualifications,  necessary  for 
the  man  whom  he  figures  for  a perfect  courtier; 
for  this  reason  no  doubt,  because  his  end  being 


136 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


to  find  grace  in  the  eyes  of  men  of  all  degrees, 
the  means  to  pursue  this  end,  was  the  furnish- 
ing him  with  such  real  and  seeming  excellen- 
cies as  each  degree  had  its  particular  taste  of. 
But  those  of  the  university,  instead  of  employ- 
ing their  leisure  hours  in  the  pursuit  of  such 
acquisitions  as  would  shorten  their  way  to  bet- 
ter fortune,  enjoy  those  moments  at  certain 
houses  in  the  town,  or  repair  to  others  at  very 
prett}^  distances  out  of  it,  where  ‘ they  drink 
and  forget  their  poverty,  and  remember  their 
misery  no  more.’  Persons  of  this  indigent 
education  are  apt  to  pass  upon  themselves  and 
others  for  modest,  especially  in  the  point  of  be- 
haviour ; though  it  is  easy  to  prove,  that  this 
mistaken  modesty  not  only  arises  from  igno- 
rance, but  begets  the  appearance  of  its  opposite 
pride.  For  he  that  is  conscious  of  his  own 
insufficiency  to  address  his  superiors  without 
appearing  ridiculous,  is  by  that  betrayed  into 
the  same  neglect  and  indifference  towards  them 
which  may  bear  the  construction  of  pride. 
From  this  habit  they  begin  to  argue  against  the 
base  submissive  application  from  men  of  letters 
to  men  of  fortune,  and  be  grieved  when  they 
see,  as  Ben  Jonson  says, 

‘ The  learned  pate 

Duck  to  the  golden  fool.’ 

though  these  are  points  of  necessity  and  conve- 
nience, and  to  be  esteemed  submissions  rather 
to  the  occasion  than  to  the  person.  It  was  a 
fine  answer  of  Diogenes,  who  being  asked  in 
mockery,  why  philosophers  were  the  followers 
of  rich  men,  and  not  rich  men  of  philosophers, 
replied,  ‘ Because  the  one  knew  what  they  had 
need  of,  and  the  other  did  not.’  It  certainly 
must  be  difficult  to  prove,  that  a man  of  busi- 
ness, or  a profession,  ought  not  to  be  what  we 
call  a gentleman,  but  yet  very  few  of  them  are 
so.  Upon  this  account  they  have  little  conver- 
sation with  those  who  might  do  them  most  ser- 
vice, but  upon  such  occasions  only  as  applica- 
tion is  made  to  them  in  their  particular  calling  ; 
and  for  any  thing  they  can  do  or  say  in  such 
matters  have  their  reward,  and  therefore  rather 
receive  than  confer  an  obligation  ; whereas  he 
that  adds  his  being  agreeable  to  his  being  ser- 
viceable, is  constantly  in  a capacity  of  obliging 
others.  The  character  of  a beau,  is,  I think, 
what  the  men  that  pretend  to  learning  please 
themselves  in  ridiculing  : and  yet  if  we  com- 
pare these  persons  as  we  see  them  in  public,  we 
shall  find  that  the  lettered  coxcombs  without 
good-breeding,  give  more  just  occasion  to  rail- 
lery, than  the  unlettered  coxcombs  with  it ; as 
our  behaviour  falls  within  the  judgment  of 
more  persons  than  our  conversation,  and  a 
failure  in  it  is  therefore  more  visible.  What 
pleasant  victories  over  the  loud,  the  saucy,  and 
the  illiterate,  would  attend  the  men  of  learning 
and  breeding  : which  qualifications  could  we 
but  join,  would  beget  such  a confidence  as, 
arising  from  good  sense  and  good  nature,  would 
never  let  us  oppress  others  or  desert  ourselves. 
In  short,  whether  a man  intends  a life  of  busi- 
ness or  pleasure,  it  is  impossible  to  pursue 
cither  in  an  elegant  manner,  without  the  help 
of  good-breeding.  I shall  conclude  with  the 
face  at  least  of  a regular  discourse ; and  say,  if 


[No.  95. 

it  is  our  behaviour  and  address  upon  all  common 
occasions  that  prejudice  people  in  our  favour, 
or  to  our  disadvantage,  and  the  more  substantial 
parts,  as  our  learning  and  industry,  cannot  pos- 
sibly appear  but  to  few ; it  is  not  justifiable  to 
spend  so  much  time  in  that  which  so  very  few 
are  judges  of,  and  utterly  neglect  that  which 
falls  within  the  censure  of  so  many. 


No.  95.]  Tuesday,  June  30,  1713. 

—Aliena  negotia  centum—  Hor.  Lib.  2.  Sat.  vi.  33. 

A crowd  of  petitioners.  Creech. 

I FIND  business  increase  upon  me  very  much, 
as  will  appear  by  the  following  letters. 

‘ Oxford,  June  24,  1713. 

‘ Sir, — This  day  Mr.  Oliver  Purville,  gentle- 
man, property-man  to  the  theatre  royal,  in  the 
room  of  Mr.  William  Peer,  deceased,  arrived 
here  in  widow  Bartlett’s  wagon.  He  is  a hum- 
ble member  of  the  Little  Club,  and  a passionate 
man,  which  makes  him  tell  the  disasters  which 
he  met  with  on  his  road  hither,  a little  too  inco- 
herently to  be  rightly  understood.  By  what  I 
can  gather  from  him,  it  seems  that  within  three 
miles  of  this  side  Wickham,  the  party  was  set 
upon  by  highwaymen.  Mr.  Purville  w’as  super- 
cargo to  the  great  hamper,  in  which  were  the 
following  goods.  The  chains  of  Jaffier  and 
Pierre;  the  crowns  and  sceptres  of  the  posterity 
of  Banquo;  the  bull,  bear,  and  horse  of  captain 
Otter ; bones,  skulls,  pickaxes,  and  a bottle  of 
brandy,  and  five  muskets ; four-score  pieces  of 
stock-gold  and  thirty  pieces  of  tin-silver,  hid  in 
a green  purse  within  a skull.  These  the  rob- 
bers, by  being  put  up  safe,  supposed  to  be  true, 
and  rid  off  with,  not  forgetting  to  take  Mr.  Pur- 
ville’s  own  current  coin.  They  broke  the  ar- 
mour of  Jacomo,  which  was  cased  up  in  the 
same  hamper,  and  one  of  them  put  on  the  said 
Jacomo’s  mask  to  escape.  They  also  did  seve- 
ral extravagancies  with  no  other  purpose  but  to 
do  mischief ; they  broke  a mace  for  the  lord 
mayor  of  London.  They  also  destroyed  the 
world,  the  sun,  and  moon,  which  lay  loose  in  I 
the  wagon.  Mrs.  Bartlett  is  frightened  out  of 
her  wits,  for  Purville  says  he  has  her  servant’s  j 
receipt  for  the  world,  and  expects  she  sha,ll  make 
it  good.  Purville  is  resolved  to  take  no  lodgings 
in  town,  but  makes,  behind  the  scenes,  a bed- 
chamber of  the  hamper.  His  bed  is  that  in 
which  Desdemona  is  to  die,  and  he  uses  the 
sheet  (in  which  Mr.  Johnson  is  tied  up  in  a co-  * 
medy,)  for  his  own  bed  of  nights.  It  is  to  be  i 
hoped  the  great  ones  will  consider  Mr.  Pur- 
ville’s  loss.  One  of  the  robbers  has  sent,  b}’  a j 
country  fellow,  the  stock-gold,  and  had  the  im- 
pudence to  write  the  following  letter  to  Mr. 
Purville. 

“ Sir, — If  you  had  been  an  honest  man,  you 
would  not  have  put  bad  money  upon  men  who 
venture  their  lives  for  it.  But  we  shall  see  you 
when  you  come  back. 

“ PHILIP  SCOWRER.” 

‘ There  are  many  things  in  this  matter  which  i 
employ  the  ablest  men  here,  as  whether  an  ac- 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


137 


No.  95.J 

tion  will  lie  for  the  world  among  people  who 
make  the  most  of  words  ? or  whether  it  be  ad- 
viseable  to  call  that  round  ball  the  world,  and  if 
we  do  not  call  it  so,  wiiether  we  can  have  any 
remedy?  the  ablest  lawyer  here  says  there  is 
no  help;  for  if  you  call  it  the  world,  it  will  be 
answered.  How  could  the  world  be  in  one  shire, 
to  wit,  that  of  Buckingham;  for  the  county 
must  be  named,  and  if  you  do  not  name  it,  we 
shall  certainly  be  nonsuited.  I do  not  know 
whether  I make  myself  understood ; but  you 
understand  me  right  when  you  believe  I am 
your  most  humble  servant  and  faithful  corres- 
pondent, THE  PROMPTER.’ 

‘ Honoured  Sir, — Your  character  of  Guar- 
dian makes  it  not  only  necessary,  but  becom- 
ing, to  have  several  employed  under  you.  And 
being  myself  ambitious  of  your  service,  I am 
now  your  humble  petitioner  to  be  admitted  into 
a place  I do  not  find  yet  disposed  of — I mean 
that  of  your  lion-catcher.  It  was,  sir,  for  want 
of  such  commission  from  your  honour,  very 
many  lions  have  lately  escaped.  However,  I 
made  bold  to  distinguish  a couple.  One  I found 
in  a coffee-house — He  was  of  the  larger  sort, 
looked  fierce,  and  roared  loud.  I considered 
wherein  he  was  dangerous ; and  accordingly 
expressed  ray  displeasure  against  him,  in  such 
a manner  upon  his  chaps,  that  now  he  is  not 
able  to  show  his  teeth.  The  other  was  a small 
lion,  who  was  slipping  by  me  as  I stood  at  the 
corner  of  an  alley — I smelt  the  creature  pre- 
sently, and  catched  at  him,  but  he  got  off  with 
the  loss  of  a lock  of  hair  only,  which  proved  of 
a dark  colour.  This  and  the  teeth  above-men- 
tioned I have  by  me,  and  design  them  both  for 
a present  to  Button’s  coffee-house. 

‘ Besides  this  way  of  dealing  with  them,  I 
have  invented  many  curious  traps,  snares,  and 
artificial  baits,  which,  it  is  humbly  conceived, 
cannot  fail  of  clearing  the  kingdom  of  the  whole 
species  in  a short  time. 

‘ This  is  humbly  submitted  to  your  honour’s 
consideration ; and  I am  ready  to  appear  before 
your  honour,  to  answer  to  such  questions  as  you 
in  your  great  wisdom,  shall  think  meet  to  ask, 
whenever  you  please  to  command  your  honour’s 
most  obedient  humble  servant, 

‘ HERCULES  CRABTREE. 

‘ Midsummer-day. 

* N.  B.  I have  an  excellent  nose.’ 

‘ Tom’s  Coffee-house,  in  Cornhill,  June  19,  1713. 

‘ Sir, — Reading  in  your  yesterday’s  paper  a 
letter  from  Daniel  Button,  in  recommendation 
of  his  coffee-house  for  polite  conversation  and 
freedom  from  the  argument  by  the  button,  I 
make  bold  to  send  you  this  to  assure  you,  that 
at  this  place  there  is  as  yet  kept  up  as  good  a 
decorum  in  the  debates  of  politics,  trade,  stocks, 
&c.  as  at  Will’s,  or  at  any  other  coffee-house  at 
your  end  of  the  town.  In  order,  therefore,  to 
preserve  this  house  from  the  arbitrary  way  of 
forcing  an  assent,  by  seizing  on  the  collar,  neck- 
cloth, or  any  other  part  of  the  body  or  dress,  it 
would  be  of  signal  service  if  you  would  be 
pleased  to  intimate,  that  we,  who  frequent  this 
place  after  Exchange-time,  shall  have  the  ho- 
nour of  seeing  you  here  sometimes;  for  that 


would  be  a sufficient  guard  to  us  from  all  such 
petty  practices,  and  also  be  a means  of  enabling 
the  honest  man,  who  keeps  the  house,  to  conti- 
nue to  serve  us  with  the  best  bohea  and  green 
tea,  and  coffee,  and  will  in  a particular  manner 
oblige,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

‘JAMES  DIAPER. 

‘ P.  S.  The  room  above  stairs  is  the  hand- 
somest in  this  part  of  the  town,  furnished  with 
large  pier  glasses  for  persons  to  view  themselves 
in,  who  have  no  business  with  any  body  else, 
and  every  way  fit  for  the  reception  of  fine  gen- 
tlemen.’ 

‘ Sir, — I am  a very  great  scholar,  wear  a fair 
wig,  and  have  an  immense  number  of  books  cu- 
riously bound  and  gilt.  I excel  in  a singularity 
of  diction  and  manners,  and  visit  persons  of  the 
first  quality.  In  fine,  I have  by  me  a great 
quantity  of  cockle-shells,  which,  however,  does 
not  defend  me  from  the  insults  of  another  learn- 
ed man,  who  neglects  me  in  a most  insupport- 
able manner : for  I have  it  from  persons  of  un- 
doubted veracity,  that  he  presumed  once  to  pass 
by  my  door,  without  waiting  upon  me.  Whether 
this  be  consistent  with  the  respect  which  we 
learned  men  ought  to  have  for  each  other,  I 
leave  to  your  judgment,  and  am,  sir,  your  affec- 
tionate friend,  PHILAUTUS.’ 

‘ O.xford,  June  18,  1713. 

‘ Friend  Nestor, — I had  always  a great  va- 
lue for  thee,  and  have  so  still:  but  I must  tell 
thee,  that  thou  strangely  affectest  to  be  sage 
and  solid:  now  pr’ythee  let  me  observe  to  thee, 
that  though  it  be  common  enough  for  people  as 
they  grow  older  to  grow  graver,  yet  it  is  not  so 
common  to  become  wiser.  Verily  to  me  thou 
seemest  to  keep  strange  company,  and  with  a 
positive  sufficiency,  incident  to  old  age,  to  fol- 
low too  much  thine  own  inventions.  Thou  de- 
pendest  too  much,  likewise,  upon  thy  corres- 
pondence here,  and  art  apt  to  take  people’s 
words  without  consideration.  But  my  present 
business  with  thee  is  to  expostulate  with  thee 
about  a late  paper,  occasioned,  as  thou  say’st, 
by  Jack  Lizard’s  information,  (my  very  good 
friend,)  that  we  are  to  have  a public  act. 

‘Now,  I say,  in  that  paper,  there  is  nothing 
contended  for  which  any  man  of  common  sense 
will  deny;  all  that  is  there  said,  is,  that  no  man 
or  woman’s  reputation  ought  to  be  blasted,  i.  e. 
nobody  ought  to  have  an  ill  character  who  does 
not  deserve  it.  Very  true;  but  here’s  this  false 
consequence  insinuated,  that  therefore  nobody 
ought  to  hear  of  their  faults;  or,  in  other  words, 
let  any  body  do  as  much  ill  as  he  pleases,  he 
ought  not  to  be  told  of  it.  Art  thou  a patriot, 
Mr.  Ironside,  and  wilt  thou  affirm,  that  arbi- 
trary proceedings  and  oppression  ought  to  be 
concealed  or  justified?  Art  thou  a gentleman, 
and  w'ould’st  thou  have  base,  sordid,  ignoble 
tricks  connived  at  or  tolerated  ? Art  thou  a scho- 
lar, and  would’st  thou  have  learning  and  good 
manners  discouraged?  Would’st  thou  have 
cringing  servility,  parasitical  shuffling,  fawn- 
ing, and  dishonest  compliances,  made  the  road 
to  success?  Art  thou  a Christian,  and  would’st 
! thou  have  all  villanies  within  the  law  practised 
12* 


138 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  96. 


with  impunity?  Should  they  not  be  told  of  it? 
It  is  certain  there  are  many  things  which, 
though  there  are  no  laws  against  them,  yet 
ought  not  to  be  done;  and  in  such  cases  there 
is  no  argument  so  likely  to  hinder  their  being 
done,  as  the  fear  of  public  shame  for  doing  them. 
The  two  great  reasons  against  an  act  are  always, 
the  saving  of  money,  and  hiding  of  roguery. 

“ Here  many  things  are  omitted,  which  will 
be  in  the  speech  of  the  Terroefilius.” 

‘ And  now,  dear  Old  Iron,  I am  glad  to  hear 
that  at  these  years  thou  hast  gallantry  enough 
left  to  have  thoughts  of  setting  up  for  a knight- 
errant,  a tamer  of  monsters,  and  a defender  of 
distrest  damsels. 

‘ Adieu,  old  fellow,  and  let  me  give  thee  this 
advice  at  parting ; E’en  get  thyself  case-har- 
dened; for  though  the  very  best  steel  may  snap, 
yet  old  iron,  you  know,  will  rust.  UMBRA. 

‘ Be  just,  and  publish  this.’ 

‘ Oxford,  Sat.  27, 1713. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — This  day  arrived  the  van- 
guard of  the  theatrical  army.  Your  friend  Mr. 
George  Powel,  commanded  the  artillery,  both 
celestial  and  terrestrial.  The  magazines  of  snow, 
lightning,  and  thunder,  are  safely  laid  up.  We 
have  had  no  disaster  on  the  way,  but  that  of 
breaking  Cupid’s  bow  by  a jolt  of  the  wagon  : 
but  they  tell  us  they  make  them  very  well  in 
Oxford.  We  all  went  in  a body,  and  were  sliown 
your  chambers  in  Lincoln  college.  The  Terrae- 
filius  expects  you  down,  and  we  of  the  theatre, 
design  to  bring  you  into  town  with  all  our 
guards.  Those  of  Alexander  the  Great,  Julius 
Caesar,  and  the  faithful  retinue  of  Cato,  shall 
meet  you  at  Shotover.  The  ghost  of  Hamlet, 
and  the  statue  which  supped  with  Don  John, 
both  say,  that  though  it  be  at  noon-day,  they 
will  attend  your  entry.  Every  body  expects 
you  with  great  impatience.  We  shall  be  in  very 
good  order  when  all  are  come  down.  We  have 
sent  to  town  for  a brick-wall  which  we  forgot. 
The  sea  is  to  come  by  water.  Your  most  hum- 
ble servant,  and  faithful  correspondent, 

‘THE  PROMPTER.’ 


No.  96.]  Wednesday,  July  1,  1713. 

Cuncti  adscint,  meritaeque  expectent  prEemia  palmse. 

rirg.  iEn.  v.  70. 

Let  all  be  present  at  the  yames  prepar’d  ; 

And  joyful  victors  wait  the  just  reward.  Dryden. 

There  is  no  maxim  in  politics  more  indis- 
putable, than  that  a nation  should  have  many 
honours  in  reserve  for  those  who  do  national 
services.  This  raises  emulation,  cherishes  pub- 
lic merit,  and  inspires  every  one  with  an  ambi- 
tion which  promotes  the  good  of  his  country. 
The  less  expensive  these  honours  are  to  the 
public,  the  more  still  do  they  turn  to  its  advan- 
tage. 

The  Romans  abounded  with  these  little  ho- 
norary rewards,  that  without  conferring  wealth 
or  riches,  gave  only  place  and  distinction  to  the 
person  who  received  them.  An  oaken  garland 
to  be  worn  on  festivals  and  public  ceremonies, 
was  the  glorious  recompence  of  one  who  had 


covered  a citizen  in  battle.  A soldier  would  not 
only  venture  his  life  for  a mural  crown,  but 
think  the  most  hazardous  enterprise  sufficiently 
repaid  by  so  noble  a donation. 

But  among  all  honorary  rewards  which  are 
neither  dangerous  nor  detrimental  to  the  donor, 
I remember  none  so  remarkable  as  the  titles 
which  are  bestowed  by  the  emperor  of  China. 
These  are  never  given  to  any  subject,  says  mon- 
sieur le  Comte,  until  the  subject  is  dead.  If  he 
has  pleased  his  emperor  to  the  last,  he  is  called 
in  all  public  memorials  by  the  title  which  the 
emperor  confers  on  him  after  his  death,  and  his 
children  take  their  ranks  accordingly.  This 
keeps  the  ambitious  subject  in  a perpetual  de- 
pendence, making  him  always  vigilant  and 
active,  and  in  every  thing  conformable  to  the 
will  of  his  sovereign. 

There  are  no  honorary  rewards  among  us, 
which  are  more  esteemed  by  the  person  who  re- 
ceives them,  and  are  cheaper  to  the  prince,  than 
the  giving  of  medals.  But  there  is  something 
in  the  modern  manner  of  celebrating  a great 
action  in  medals,  which  makes  such  a reward 
much  less  valuable  than  it  was  among  the  Ro- 
mans. There  is  generally  but  one  coin  stamped 
on  the  occasion,  which  is  made  a present  to  the 
person  who  is  celebrated  on  it.  By  this  means 
his  whole  fame  is  in  his  own  custody.  The  ap- 
plause that  is  bestowed  upon  him  is  too  much 
limited  and  confined.  He  is  in  possession  of  an 
honour  which  the  world  perhaps  knows  nothing 
of.  He  may  be  a great  man  in  his  own  family ; 
his  wife  and  children  may  see  the  monument  of 
an  exploit,  which  the  public  in  a little  time  is  a 
stranger  to.  The  Romans  took  a quite  different 
method  in  this  particular.  Their  medals  were 
their  current  money.  When  an  action  deserved 
to  be  recorded  in  coin,  it  was  stamped  perhaps 
upon  a hundred  thousand  pieces  of  money  like 
our  shillings,  or  halfpence,  which  were  issued 
out  of  the  mint,  and  became  current.  This 
method  published  every  noble  action  to  advan- 
tage, and  in  a short  space  of  time,  spread 
through  the  whole  Roman  empire.  The  Ro- 
mans were  so  careful  to  preserve  the  memory 
of  great  events  upon  their  coins,  that  when  any 
particular  piece  of  money  grew  very  scarce,  it 
was  often  recoined  by  a succeeding  emperor, 
many  years  after  the  death  of  the  emperor  to 
whose  honour  it  was  first  struck. 

A friend  of  mine  drew  up  a project  of  this 
kind  during  the  late  ministry,  which  would  then 
have  been  put  in  execution  had  it  not  been  too 
busy  a time  for  thoughts  of  that  nature.  As 
this  project  has  been  very  much  talked  of  by 
the  gentleman  above-mentioned  to  men  of  the 
greatest  genius,  as  well  as  quality  ; I am  in- 
formed there  is  now  a design  on  foot  for  exe- 
cuting the  proposal  which  was  then  made,  and 
that  we  shall  have  several  farthings  and  half- 
pence charged  on  the  reverse  with  many  of  the 
glorious  particulars  of  her  majesty’s  reign.  This 
is  one  of  those  arts  of  peace  which  may  very 
well  deserve  to  be  cultivated,  and  which  may  be 
of  great  use  to  posterity. 

As  I have  in  my  possession  the  copy  of  the 
paper  above-mentioned,  which  was  delivered  to 
the  late  lord  treasurer,  I shall  here  give  the  pub- 
lic a sight  of  it ; for  I do  not  question  but  that 


No.  97.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


139 


the  curious  part  of  my  readers  will  be  very 
much  pleased  to  see  so  much  matter,  and  so 
many  useful  hints  upon  tliis  subject,  laid  to- 
gether in  so  clear  and  concise  a manner. 

‘The  English  have  not  been  so  careful  as 
other  polite  nations  to  preserve  the  memory  of 
their  great  actions  and  events  on  medals.  Their 
subjects  are  few,  their  mottoes  and  devices 
mean,  and  the  coins  themselves  not  numerous 
enough  to  spread  among  the  people,  or  descend 
to  posterity. 

‘ The  French  have  outdone  us  in  these  par- 
ticulars, and  by  the  establishment  of  a society 
for  the  invention  of  proper  inscriptions  and  de- 
signs, have  the  whole  history  of  their  present 
king*  in  a regular  series  of  medals.  I’hey  have 
failed  as  well  as  the  English,  in  coining  so  small 
a number  of  each  kind,  and  those  of  such  costly 
metals,  that  each  species  may  be  lost  in  a few 
ages,  and  is  at  present  no  where  to  be  met  with 
but  in  the  cabinets  of  the  curious. 

‘ The  ancient  Romans  took  the  only  effectual 
method  to  disperse  and  preserve  their  medals, 
by  making  them  their  current  money. 

‘ Every  tiling  glorious  or  useful,  as  well  in 
peace  as  war,  gave  occasion  to  a different  coin. 
Not  only  an  expedition,  victory,  or  triumph,  but 
the  exercise  of  a solemn  devotion,  the  remission 
of  a duty  or  tax,  a new  temple,  seaport,  or  high- 
way, were  transmitted  to  posterity  after  this 
manner. 

* The  greatest  variety  of  devices  are  on  their 
copper  money,  which  have  most  of  the  designs 
that  are  to  be  met  with  on  the  gold  and  silver, 
and  several  peculiar  to  that  metal  only.  By  this 
means  they  were  dispersed  into  the  remotest 
corners  of  the  empire,  came  into  the  possession 
of  the  poor  as  well  as  rich,  and  were  in  no  dan- 
ger of  perishing  in  the  hands  of  those  that 
might  have  melted  down  coins  of  a more  valua- 
ble metal. 

‘ Add  to  all  this,  that  the  designs  were  in- 
vented by  men  of  genius,  and  executed  by  a de- 
cree of  senate. 

‘It  is  therefore  proposed, 

‘ I.  That  the  English  farthings  and  halfpence 
be  re-coined  upon  the  union  of  the  two  nations. 

* II.  That  they  bear  devices  and  inscriptions 
alluding  to  all  the  most  remarkable  parts  of  her 
majesty’s  reign. 

‘ III.  That  there  be  a society  established  for 
the  finding  out  of  proper  subjects,  inscriptions, 
and  devices. 

‘ IV.  That  no  subject,  inscription,  or  device, 
be  stamped  without  the  approbation  of  this  so- 
ciety, nor  if  it  be  thought  proper,  without  the 
authority  of  privy-council. 

‘ By  this  means,  medals  that  are  at  present 
only  a dead  treasure,  or  mere  curiosities,  will 
be  of  use  in  the  ordinary  commerce  of  life, 
and  at  the  same  time,  perpetuate  the  glories  of 
her  majesty’s  reign,  reward  the  labours  of  her 
greatest  subjects,  keep  alive  in  the  people  a grati- 
tude for  public  services,  and  excite  the  emula- 
tion of  posterity.  To  these  generous  purposes 
nothing  can  so  much  contribute  as  medals  of 
this  kind,  which  are  of  undoubted  authority,  of 
necessary  use  and  observation,  not  perishable  by 
time,  nor  confined  to  any  certain  place ; proper- 
ties not  to  be  found  in  books,  statues,  pictures. 


buildings,  or  any  other  monuments  of  illuslriour 
actions.  O" 


No.  97.]  Thursday,  July  2,  1713, 

— Furor  est  post  omnia  perdere  naulum. 

JuD.  Sat.  viii.  97. 

’Tis  mad  to  lavish  what  their  rapine  left. 

Stepney. 

‘ Sir, — I was  left  a thousand  pounds  by  an 
uncle,  and  being  a man  to  my  thinking  very 
likely  to  get  a rich  widow,  I laid  aside  all 
thoughts  of  making  my  fortune  any  other  way, 
and  without  loss  of  time  made  my  application 
to  one  who  had  buried  her  husband  about  a 
week  before.  By  the  help  of  some  of  her  she- 
friends  who  were  my  relations,  I got  into  her 
company  when  she  would  see  no  man  besides 
myself  and  her  lawyer,  who  is  a little,  rivelled, 
spindle-shanked  gentleman,  and  married  to  boot, 
so  tliat  I had  no  reason  to  fear  him.  Upon  my 
first  seeing  her,  she  said  in  conversation  within 
my  hearing,  that  she  thought  a pale  complexion 
the  most  agreeable  either  in  man  or  woman. 
Now  you  must  know,  sir,  my  face  is  as  wdiite 
as  chalk.  This  gave  me  some  encouragement ; 
so  that  to  mend  the  matter  I bought  a fine  flaxen 
long  wig  that  cost  me  thirty  guineas,  and  found 
an  opportunity  of  seeing  her  in  it  the  next  day. 
She  then  let  drop  some  expressions  about  an 
agate  snuff-box.  I immediately  took  the  hint, 
and  bought  one,  being  unwilling  to  omit  any 
thing  that  might  make  me  desirable  in  her  eyes. 
I was  betrayed  after  the  same  manner  into  a 
brocade  waistcoat,  a sword  knot,  a pair  of  silver 
fringed  gloves,  and  a diamond  ring.  But  whe- 
ther out  of  fickleness  or  a design  upon  me,  I 
cannot  tell ; but  I found  by  her  discourse,  that 
what  she  liked  one  day,  she  disliked  another  : so 
that  in  six  months’  space  I was  forced  to  equip 
myself  above  a dozen  times.  As  I told  you  be- 
fore,  I took  her  hints  at  a distance,  for  I could 
never  find  an  opportunity  of  talking  with  her 
directly  to  the  point.  All  this  time,  however,  I 
was  allowed  the  utmost  familiarities  with  her 
lap-dog,  and  have  played  with  it  above  an  hour 
together,  without  receiving  the  least  reprimand, 
and  had  many  other  marks  of  favour  shown  me, 
which  I thought  amounted  to  a promise.  If  she 
chanced  to  drop  her  fan,  she  received  it  from 
my  hands  with  great  civility.  If  she  wanted 
any  thing,  I reached  it  for  her.  I have  filled 
her  tea-pot  above  a hundred  times,  and  have 
afterwards  received  a dish  of  it  from  her  own 
hands.  Now,  sir,  do  you  judge,  if  after  such  en- 
couragements, she  was  not  obliged  to  marry 
me.  I forgot  to  tell  you  that  I kept  a chair  by 
the  week,  on  purpose  to  carry  me  thither  and 
back  again.  Not  to  trouble  you  with  a long 
letter,  in  the  space  of  about  a twelvemonth  J 
have  run  out  of  my  whole  thousand  pounds  upon 
her,  having  laid  out  the  last  fifty  in  a new  suit 
of  clothes,  in  which  I was  resolved  to  receive 
her  final  answer,  which  amounted  to  this,  “that 
she  was  engaged  to  another  ; that  she  never 
dreamt  I had  any  such  thing  in  ray  head  as 
marriage ; and  that  she  thought  I had  frequent- 


140 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


ed  her  house  only  because  I loved  to  be  in  com- 
pany with  my  relations.”  This,  you  know,  sir, 
is  using-  a man  like  a fool,  and  so  I told  her  ; 
but  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  I have  spent  my  for- 
tune to  no  purpose.  All,  therefore,  that  I desire 
of  you  is,  to  tell  me  whether,  upon  exhibiting 
the  several  particulars  which  I have  related  to 
you,  I may  not  sue  her  for  damages  in  a court 
of  justice.  Your  advice  in  this  particular  will 
very  much  oblige  your  most  humble  admirer, 

‘ SIMON  SOFTLY.’ 

Before  I answer  Mr.  Softly’s  request,  I find 
myself  under  a necessity  of  discussing  two  nice 
points.  First  of  all.  What  it  is,  in  cases  of  this 
nature,  that  amounts  to  an  encouragement ; and 
secondly.  What  it  is  that  amounts  to  a promise? 
Each  of  which  subjects  requires  more  time  to 
examine  tlian  I am  at  present  master  of.  Be- 
sides, I would  have  my  friend  Simon  consider, 
whether  he  has  any  counsel  that  will  undertake 
his  C3.XXSQ, in  forma  pauperis, he  having  unluckily 
disabled  himself,  by  his  own  account  of  the 
matter,  from  prosecuting  his  suit  any  other  way. 

In  answer,  however,  to  Mr.  Softly’s  request, 
I shall  acquaint  him  with  a method  made  use 
of  by  a young  fellow  in  king  Charles  the  Se- 
cond’s reign,  whom  I shall  here  call  Silvio,  who 
had  long  made  love  with  much  artifice  and  in- 
trigue, to  a rich  widow,  whose  true  name  I shall 
conceal  under  that  of  Zelinda.  Silvio,  who  was 
much  more  smitten  with  her  fortune  than  her 
person,  finding  a twelve-month’s  application  un- 
successful, was  resolved  to  make  a saving  bar- 
gain of  it ; and  since  he  could  not  get  the 
widow’s  estate  into  his  possession,  to  recover  at 
least  what  he  had  laid  out  of  his  own  in  the 
pursuit  of  it. 

In  order  to  this  he  presented  her  with  a bill 
of  costs,  having  particularised  in  it  the  several 
expenses  he  had  been  at  in  his  long  perplexed 
amour.  Zelinda  was  so  pleased  with  the  humour 
of  the  fellow,  and  his  f/ank  way  of  dealing, 
that,  upon  the  perusal  of  the  bill,  she  sent  him 
a purse  of  fifteen  hundred  guineas,  by  the  right 
application  of  which,  the  lover,  in  less  than  a 
year,  got  a woman  of  a greater  fortune  than 
her  he  had  missed.  The  several  articles  in  the 
bill  of  costs  I pretty  well  remember,  though  I 
have  forgotten  the  particular  sum  charged  to 
each  article. 

Laid  out  in  supernumerary  full-bottom  wigs. 

Fiddles  for  a serenade,  with  a speaking  trum- 
pet. 

Gilt  paper  in  letters,  and  billet-doux,  with  per- 
fumed wax. 

A ream  of  sonnets  and  love-verses,  purchased 
at  different  times  of  Mr.  Triplet  at  a crown  a 
sheet. 

To  Zelinda,  two  sticks  of  May-cherries. 

Last  summer  at  several  times,  a bushel  of 
peaches. 

Three  porters  whom  I planted  about  her  to 
watch  her  motions. 

The  first  who  stood  centry  near  her  door. 

The  second  who  had  his  stand  at  the  stables 
where  her  coach  was  put  up. 

The  third  who  kept  watch  at  the  corner  of 
the  street  where  Ned  Courtall  lives,  who  has 
since  married  her. 


[No.  98. 

j Two  additional  porters  planted  over  her 
during  the  whole  month  of  May. 

Five  conjurers  kept  in  pay  all  last  winter. 
Spy-money  to  John  Trott  her  footman,  and 
Mrs.  Sarah  Wheedle,  her  companion. 

A new  Conningsmark  blade  to  fight  Ned 
Courtall. 

To  Zelinda’s  woman  (Mrs.  Abigail)  an  Indian 
fan,  a dozen  pair  of  white  kid  gloves,  a piece 
of  Flanders  lace,  and  fifteen  guineas  in  dry 
money. 

Secret-service  money  to  Betty  at  the  ring. 
Ditto  to  Mrs.  Tape  the  mantua-raaker. 

Loss  of  time. 

O’ 


No.  98.]  Friday,  July  3,  1713. 

In  sese  redit Virg.  Georg,  iv.  444. 

He  resumes  himself. 

The  first  who  undertook  to  instruct  the  world 
in  single  papers  was  Isaac  Bickerstaff  of  famous 
memory  : a man  nearly  related  to  the  family 
of  the  Ironsides.  We  have  often  smoked  a pipe 
together;  for  I was  so  much  in  his  books,  that 
at  hisxlecease  he  left  me  a silver  standish,  a pair 
of  spectacles,  and  the  lamp  by  which  he  used 
to  write  his  lucubrations. 

The  venerable  Isaac  was  succeeded  by  a gen- 
tleman of  the  same  family,  very  memorable  for 
tiie  shortness  of  his  face  and  of  his  speeches. 
This  ingenious  author  published  his  thoughts, 
and  held  his  tongue  with  great  applause,  for 
two  years  together. 

I Nestor  Ironside,  have  now  for  some  time 
undertaken  to  fill  the  place  of  these  my  two  re- 
nowned kinsmen  and  predecessors.  For  it  is 
observed  of  every  branch  of  our  family,  that 
we  have  all  of  us  a wonderful  inclination  to 
give  good  advice,  though  it  is  remarked  of  some 
of  us,  that  we  are  apt  on  this  occasion,  rather 
to  give  than  take. 

However  it  be,  I cannot  but  observe  with 
some  secret  pride,  that  this  way  of  writing  di- 
urnal papers  has  not  succeeded  for  any  space 
of  time  in  the  hands  of  any  persons  who  are 
not  of  our  line.  I believe  I speak  within  com- 
pass when  I affirm  that  above  a hundred  differ- 
ent authors  have  endeavoured  after  our  family- 
way  of  writing,  some  of  which  have  been 
writers  in  other  kinds  of  the  greatest  eminence 
in  the  kingdom  : but  I do  not  know  how  it  has 
happened,  they  have  none  of  them  hit  upon  the 
art.  Their  projects  have  always  dropt  after  a 
few  unsuccessful  essays.  It  puts  me  in  mind 
of  a story  which  was  lately  told  me  by  a plea- 
sant friend  of  mine,  who  has  a very  fine  hand 
on  the  violin.  His  maid  servant  seeing  his  in- 
strument lying  upon  the  table,  and  being  sensi- 
ble there  was  music  in  it,  if  she  knew  how  to 
fetch  it  out,  drew  the  bow  over  every  part  of  the 
strings,  and  at  last  told  her  master  she  had  tried 
the  fiddle  all  over,  but  could  not  for  her  heart 
find  where  about  the  tune  lay. 

But  though  the  whole  burden  of  such  a paper 
is  only  fit  to  rest  on  the  shoulders  of  a Bicker- 
staff  or  an  Ironside ; there  are  several  who  can 
acquit  themselves  of  a single  day’s  labour  in  it 


No.  99.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


141 


i 

I with  suitable  abilities.  These  are  {gentlemen 
whom  I have  often  invited  to  tliis  trial  of  wit, 
and  who  have  several  of  them  acquitted  them- 
! selves  to  my  private  emolument;  as  well  as  to 
their  owm  reputation.  My  paper  among  the 
republic  of  letters  is  the  Ulysses’s  bow,  in 
which  every  man  of  wit  or  learning  may  try 
, his  strength.  One  who  does  not  care  to  w’rite 
I a book  without  being  sure  of  his  abilities,  may 
see  by  this  means  if  his  parts  and  talents  are  to 
i the  public  taste. 

This  I take  to  be  of  great  advantage  to  men 
of  the  best  sense,  who  are  always  diffident  of 
their  private  judgment,  until  it  receives  a sanc- 
tion from  the  public.  '■  Provoco  ad populum'  ‘ I 
appeal  to  the  people,’  was  the  usual  saying  of 
a very  excellent  dramatic  poet,  when  he  had 
any  dispute  wdth  particular  persons  about  the 
justness  and  regularity  of  his  productions.  It 
is  but  a melancholy  comfort  for  an  author  to  be 
satisfied  that  he  has  written  up  to  the  rules  of 
art,  when  he  finds  he  has  no  admirers  in 
the  world  besides  himself.  Common  modesty 
should,  on  this  occasion,  make  a man  suspect 
his  own  judgment,  and  that  he  misapplies  the 
rules  of  his  art,  when  he  finds  himself  singular 
in  the  applause  which  he  bestows  upon  his  own 
writings. 

The  public  is  always  even  with  an  author 
who  has  not  a just  deference  for  them.  The 
contempt  is  reciprocal.  ‘ I laugh  at  every  one,’ 
said  an  old  cynic,  ‘ who  laughs  at  me.’  ‘ Do 
you  so,’  replied  the  philosopher  ; ‘ then  let  me 
tell  you,  you  live  the  merriest  life  of  any  man 
in  Athens.’ 

It  is  not,  therefore,  the  least  use  of  this  my 
paper,  that  it  gives  a timorous  writer,  and  such 
is  every  good  one,  an  opportunity  of  putting 
his  abilities  to  the  proof,  and  of  sounding  the 
public  before  he  launches  into  it.  For  this  rea- 
son I look  upon  my  paper  as  a kind  of  nursery 
for  authors,  and  question  not  but  some  who 
have  made  a good  figure  here,  will  hereafter 
flourish  under  their  own  names  in  more  long 
and  elaborate  works. 

After  having  thus  far  enlarged  upon  this  par- 
ticular, I have  one  favour  to  beg  of  the  candid 
and  courteous  reader,  that  when  he  meets  with 
any  thing  in  this  paper  which  may  appear  a 
little  dull  and  heavy  (though  I hope  this  will 
not  be  often)  he  will  believe  it  is  the  work  of 
some  other  person,  and  not  of  Nestor  Ironside. 

I have,  I know  not  how,  been  drawn  into 
tattle  of  myself,  ?nore  majorum,  almost  the 
length  of  a whole  Guardian  ; I shall,  therefore, 
fill  up  the  remaining  part  of  it  with  what  still 
relates  to  my  own  person  and  my  correspond- 
ents. Now,  I would  have  them  all  know,  that 
on  the  twentieth  instant  it  is  my  intention  to 
erect  a lion’s  head  in  imitation  of  those  I have 
described  in  Venice,  through  which  all  the  pri- 
vate intelligence  of  that  commonwealth  is  said 
to  pass.  This  head  is  to  open  a most  wide  and 
voracious  mouth,  which  shall  take  in  such 
letters  and  papers  as  are  conveyed  to  me  by 
my  correspondents,  it  being  my  resolution  to 
have  a particular  regard  to  all  such  matters  as 
come  to  my  hands  through  the  mouth  of  the 
lion. 

There  will  be  under  it  a box,  of  which  the 


key  will  be  kept  in  my  own  custody,  to  receive 
such  papers  as  are  dropped  into  it.  Whatever 
the  lion  swallows  I shall  digest  for  the  use  of 
the  public.  This  head  requires  some  time  to 
finish,  the  workman  being  resolved  to  give  it 
several  masterly  touches,  and  to  represent  it  as 
ravenous  as  possible.  It  will  be  set  up  in  But- 
ton’s coffee-house  in  Covent-garden,*  who  is 
directed  to  show  the  way  to  the  lion’s  head,  and 
to  instruct  any  young  author  how  to  convey  his 
works  into  the  mouth  of  it  with  safety  and  se- 
crecy. 


No.  99.]  Saturday,  July  4,  1713. 

Jiistum  et  tenacem  propositi  virum. 

Non  civiuni  ardor  prava  jubentium, 

Non  vnllus  instantis  tyranni 
Mente  quatit  solida  ; neque  auster 
Dux  inquieti  turbidus  AdrisB, 

Nec  fiilminantis  inagna  Jovis  manus ; 

Si  fractus  illabatur  orbis, 

Impaviduin  ferient  ruiiiiE.  Hor.  Lib.  3 0d.  iii.  1. 

PARAPHRASED. 

The  man  resolv’d  and  steady  to  his  trust, 

Inflexible  to  ill,  and  obstinately  just, 

May  the  rude  rabble’s  insolence  desjiise. 

Their  senseless  clamours,  and  tumultuous  cries; 

The  tyrant’s  fierceness  he  beguiles. 

And  the  stern  brow,  and  the  harsh  voice  defies 
And  with  superior  greatness  smiles. 

Not  the  rough  whirlwind,  that  deforms 
Adria’s  black  gulph.  and  vexes  it  with  storms, 

The  stubborn  virtue  of  his  soul  can  move  ; 

Not  the  red  arm  of  angry  Jove, 

That  flings  the  thunder  from  the  sky. 

And  gives  it  rage  to  roar,  and  strength  to  fly. 

Should  the  whole  frame  of  nature  round  him  break. 
In  ruin  and  confusion  hurl’d. 

He  unconcern’d  would  hear  the  mighty  crack. 

And  stand  secure  amidst  a falling  world.  Anon. 

There  is  no  virtue  so  truly  great  and  godlike 
as  justice.  Most  of  the  other  virtues  are  the 
virtues  of  created  beings,  or  accommodated  to 
our  nature  as  we  are  men.  Justice  is  that  which 
is  practised  by  God  himself,  and  to  be  practised 
in  its  perfection  by  none  but  him.  Omniscience 
and  omnipotence  are  requisite  for  the  full  exer- 
tion of  it.  The  one  to  discover  every  degree  of 
uprightness  or  iniquity  in  thoughts,  words,  and 
actions ; the  other,  to  measure  out  and  impart 
suitable  rewards  and  punishments. 

As  to  be  perfectly  just  is  an  attribute  in  the 
divine  nature,  to  be  so  to  the  utmost  of  our 
abilities  is  the  glory  of  a man.  Such  a one, 
who  has  the  public  administration  in  his  hands, 
acts  like  the  representative  of  his  maker,  in  re- 
compensing the  virtuous,  and  punishing  the 
offender.  By  the  extirpating  of  a criminal  he 
averts  the  judgments  of  heaven,  when  ready  to 
fall  upon  an  impious  people ; or,  as  my  friend 
Cato  expresses  it  much  better,  in  a sentiment 
conformable  to  his  character. 

‘When  by  just  vengeance  impious  mortals  perish. 
The  gods  behold  their  punishment  with  pleasure. 

And  lay  the  uplifted  thunderbolt  aside.’ 


* The  lion’s  head,  formerly  at  Button’s  coffee-house, 
was  preserved  many  years  at  the  Shakspeare  tavern  in 
Coven t-garden  ; the  master  of  the  tavern  becoming  a 
bankrupt,  it  v/as  sold  among  his  effects,  Nov.  8,  1804,  for 
17/.  10s. 


142 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


When  a nation  once  loses  its  reg-ard  to  jus- 
tice ; when  they  do  not  look  upon  it  as  some- 
thing venerable,  holy,  and  inviolable ; when 
any  of  them  dare  presume  to  lessen,  affront,  or 
terrify  those  who  have  the  distribution  of  it  in 
their  hands  ; when  a judge  is  capable  of  being 
influenced  by  any  thing  but  law,  or  a cause  may 
be  recommended  by  any  thing  that  is  foreign 
to  its  own  merits,  we  may  venture  to  pronounce 
that  such  a nation  is  hastening  to  its  ruin. 

For  this  reason  the  best  law  that  has  ever 
past  in  our  days,  is  that  which  continues  our 
judges  in  their  posts  during  their  good  beha- 
viour, without  leaving  them  to  the  mercy  of 
such  who  in  ill  times  might,  by  an  undue  in- 
fluence over  them,  trouble  and  pervert  the 
course  of  justice.  I dare  say  the  extraordinary 
person  who  is  now  posted  in  the  chief  station 
of  the  law,  would  have  been  the  same  had  that 
act  never  passed;  but  it  is  a great  satisfaction  to 
all  honest  men,  that  while  we  see  the  greatest 
ornament  of  the  profession  in  its  highest  post, 
we  are  sure  he  cannot  hurt  himself  by  that  as- 
siduous, regular,  and  impartial  administration 
of  justice,  for  which  he  is  so  universally  cele- 
brated by  the  whole  kingdom.  Such  men  are 
to  be  reckoned  among  the  greatest  national 
blessings,  and  should  have  that  honour  paid 
them  whilst  they  are  yet  living,  which  will  not 
fail  to  crown  their  memory  when  dead. 

I always  rejoice  when  I see  a tribunal  filled 
with  a man  of  an  upright  and  inflexible  tem- 
per, who  in  the  execution  of  his  country’s  laws 
can  overcome  all  private  fear,  resentment,  soli- 
citation, and  even  pity  itself.  Whatever  passion 
enters  into  a sentence  or  decision,  so  far  will 
there  be  in  it  a tincture  of  injustice.  In  short, 
justice  discards  party,  friendship,  kindred,  and 
is  therefore  always  represented  as  blind,  that 
we  may  suppose  her  thoughts  are  wholly  intent 
on  the  equity  of  a cause,  without  being  diverted 
or  prejudiced  by  objects  foreign  to  it. 

I shall  conclude  this  paper  with  a Persian 
story,  which  is  very  suitable  to  my  present  sub- 
ject.  It  will  not  a little  please  the  reader,  if  he 
has  the  same  taste  of  it  which  I myself  have. 

As  one  of  the  sultans  lay  encamped  on  the 
plains  of  Avala,  a certain  great  man  of  the  army 
entered  by  force  into  a peasant’s  house,  and 
finding  his  wife  very  handsome,  turned  the  good 
man  out  of  his  dwelling  and  went  to  bed  to  her. 
The  peasant  complained  the  next  morning  to 
the  sultan,  and  desired  redress ; but  was  not 
able  to  point  out  the  criminal.  The  emperor, 
who  was  very  much  incensed  at  the  injury  done 
to  the  poor  man,  told  him  that  probably  the  of- 
fender might  give  his  wife  another  visit,  and  if 
he  did,  commanded  him  immediately  to  repair 
to  his  tent  and  acquaint  him  with  it.  Accord- 
ingly,  within  two  or  three  days  the  officer  en- 
tered again  the  peasant’s  house,  and  turned  the 
owner  out  of  doors  ; who  thereupon  applied  him- 
self to  the  imperial  tent,  as  he  was  ordered. 
The  sultan  went  in  person,  with  his  guards,  to 
the  poor  man’s  house,  where  he  arrived  about 
midnight.  As  the  attendants  carried  each  of 
them  a flambeau  in  their  hands,  the  sultan,  af- 
ter having  ordered  all  the  lights  to  be  put  out, 
gave  the  word  to  enter  the  house,  find  out  the 
criminal,  and  put  him  to  death.  This  was  im- 


[No.  100. 

mediately  executed,  and  the  corpse  laid  out 
upon  the  floor  by  the  emperor’s  command.  He 
then  bid  every  one  light  his  flambeau,  and  stand 
about  the  dead  bod}\  The  sultan  approaching 
it,  looked  about  the  face,  and  immediately  fell 
upon  his  knees  in  prayer.  Upon  his  rising  up, 
he  ordered  the  peasant  to  set  before  him  what- 
ever food  he  had  in  his  house.  The  peasant 
brought  out  a good  deal  of  coarse  fare,  of  which 
the  emperor  ate  very  heartily.  The  peasant 
seeing  him  in  good  humour,  presumed  to  ask 
of  him,  why  he  had  ordered  the  flambeaux  to 
be  put  out  before  he  had  commanded  the  adul- 
terer should  be  slain  ? Why,  upon  their  being 
lighted  again,  he  looked  upon  the  face  of  the 
dead  body,  and  fell  down  in  prayer  ? And  why, 
after  this,  he  had  ordered  meat  to  be  set  before 
him,  of  which  he  now  eat  so  heartily  ? The 
sultan  being  willing  to  gratify  the  curiosity  of 
his  host,  answered  him  in  this  manner.  ‘Upon 
hearing  the  greatness  of  the  offence  which  had 
been  committed  by  one  of  the  army,  I had  rea- 
son  to  think  it  might  have  been  one  of  my  own 
sons,  for  who  else  would  have  been  so  auda- 
cious and  presuming  ! I gave  orders  therefore 
for  the  lights  to  be  extinguished,  that  I might 
not  be  led  astray,  by  partiality  or  compassion, 
from  doing  justice  on  the  criminal.  Upon  the 
lighting  the  flambeaux  a second  time,  I looked 
upon  the  face  of  the  dead  person,  and,  to  my 
unspeakable  joy,  found  it  was  not  my  son.  It 
was  for  this  reason  that  I immediately  fell  upon 
my  knees  and  gave  thanks  to  God.  As  for  my 
eating  heartily  of  the  food  you  have  set  before 
me,  you  will  cease  to  wonder  at  it,  when  you 
know  that  the  great  anxiety  of  mind  I have 
been  in  upon  this  occasion,  since  the  first  com- 
plaints you  brought  me,  has  hindered  my  eating 
any  thing  from  that  time  until  this  very  mo- 
ment.’ [CT 


No.  100.]  Monday,  July  6,  1713. 

Hoc  VOS  praecipue,  niveae,  decet,  hoc  ubi  vidi, 

Oscula  ferre  humero,  qua  patet,  usque  libet. 

Ovid.  Ars  Amator.  Lib.  iii.  309. 

If  snowy  white  your  neck,  you  still  should  wear 

That,  and  the  shoulder  of  the  left  arm,  bare  ; 

Such  sights  ne’er  fail  to  fire  my  am’rous  heart, 

And  make  me  pant  to  kiss  the  naked  part. 

Congreve. 

There  is  a certain  female  ornament  by  some 
called  a tucker,  and  by  others  the  neck-piece, 
being  a slip  of  fine  linen  or  muslin  that  used  to 
run  in  a small  kind  of  ruffle  round  the  upper- 
most verge  of  the  women’s  stays,  and  by  that 
means  covered  a great  part  of  the  shoulders  and 
bosom.  Having  thus  given  a definition,  or  ra- 
ther description  of  the  tucker,  I must  take  no- 
tice that  our  ladies  have  of  late  thrown  aside 
this  fig-leaf,  and  exposed  in  its  primitive  naked- 
ness that  gentle  swelling  of  the  breast  which  it 
was  used  to  conceal.  What  their  design  by  it 
is,  they  themselves  best  know. 

I observed  this  as  I was  sitting  the  other  day 
by  a famous  she-visitant  at  my  lady  Lizard’s, 
when  accidently  as  I was  looking  upon  her  face, 
letting  my  sight  fall  into  her  bosom,  I w'as  sur- 
prised with  beauties  which  I never  before  dis- 


•No.  101] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


143 


covered,  and  do  not  know  where  my  eye  would 
have  run,  if  I had  not  immediately  checked  it. 
The  lady  herself  could  not  forbear  blushing, 
when  she  observed  by  my  looks  that  she  had 
made  her  neck  too  beautiful  and  glaring  an 
object,  even  for  a man  of  my  character  and 
gravity.  I could  scarce  forbear  making  use  of 
rny  hand  to  cover  so  unseemly  a sight. 

If  we  survey  the  pictures  of  our  great  grand- 
mothers in  queen  Elizabeth’s  time,  we  see  them 
clothed  down  to  the  very  wrists,  and  up  to  the 
very  chin.  The  hands  and  face  were  the  only 
samples  they  gave  of  their  beautiful  persons. 
The  following  age  of  females  made  larger  dis- 
coveries of  their  complexion.  Tliey  first  of  all 
tucked  up  their  garments  to  the  elbow,  and  not- 
withstanding the  tenderness  of  the  sex,  were 
content,  for  the  information  of  mankind,  to  ex- 
pose their  arms  to  the  coldness  of  the  air,  and 
injuries  of  the  weather.  This  artifice  hath 
succeeded  to  their  wishes,  and  betrayed  many 
to  their  arms,  who  might  have  escaped  them 
had  they  been  still  concealed. 

About  the  same  time,  the  ladies  considering 
that  the  neck  was  a very  modest  part  in  a hu- 
man body,  they  freed  it  from  those  yokes,  I 
mean  those  monstrous  linen  ruffs,  in  which  the 
simplicity  of  their  grandmothers  had  inclosed 
it.  In  proportion  as  the  age  refined,  the  dress 
still  sunk  lower ; so  that  when  we  now  say  a 
woman  has  a handsome  neck,  we  reckon  into  it 
many  of  the  adjacent  parts.  The  disuse  of  the 
tucker  has  still  enlarged  it,  insomuch  that  the 
neck  of  a fine  woman  at  present  takes  in  al- 
most half  the  body. 

Since  the  female  neck  thus  grows  upon  us, 
and  the  ladies  seem  disposed  to  discover  them- 
selves to  us  more  and  more,  I would  fain  have 
them  tell  us  once  for  all,  how  far  they  intend 
to  go,  and  whether  they  have  yet  determined 
among  themselves  where  to  make  a stop. 

For  my  own  part,  their  necks,  as  they  call 
them,  are  no  more  than  busts  of  alabaster  in  my 
eye.  I can  look  upon 

‘ The  yielding  marble  of  a snowy  breast,’ 
with  as  much  coldness  as  this  line  of  Mr.  Wal- 
ler represents  in  the  object  itself.  But  my  fair 
readers  ought  to  consider  that  all  their  behold- 
ers are  not  Nestors.  Every  man  is  not  suffi- 
ciently qualified  with  age  and  philosophy,  to  be 
an  indifferent  spectator  of  such  allurements. 
The  eyes  of  young  men  are  curious  and  pene- 
trating, their  imaginations  are  of  a roving  na- 
ture, and  their  passion  under  no  discipline  or 
restraint.  I am  in  pain  for  a woman  of  rank, 
when  I see  her  thus  exposing  herself  to  the 
regards  of  ever}^  impudent  staring  fellow.  How 
can  she  expect  that  her  quality  can  defend  her, 
when  she  gives  such  provocation  ? I could  not 
but  observe  last  winter,  that  upon  the  disuse  of 
the  neck-piece,  (the  ladies  will  pardon  me,  if  it 
is  not  the  fashionable  term  of  art,)  the  whole 
tribe  of  oglers  gave  their  eyes  a new  determina- 
tion, and  stared  the  fair  sex  in  the  neck  rather 
than  in  the  face.  To  prevent  these  saucy  fa- 
miliar glances,  I would  entreat  my  gentle 
readers  to  sew  on  their  tuckers  again,  to  re- 
trieve the  modesty  of  their  characters,  and  not 
to  imitate  the  nakedness,  but  the  innocence,  of 
their  mother  Eve. 


What  most  troubles  and  indeed  surprises  me 
in  this  particular,  I have  observed  that  the 
leaders  in  this  fashion  were  most  of  them  mar- 
ried  women.  What  their  design  can  be  in 
making  themselves  bare  I cannot  possibly  ima- 
gine. Nobody  exposes  wares  that  are  appro- 
priated. When  the  bird  is  taken,  the  snare 
ought  to  be  removed.  It  was  a remarkable 
circumstance  in  the  institution  of  the  severe 
Lycurgus  : as  that  great  lawgiver  knew  that  the 
wealth  and  strength  of  a republic  consisted  in 
the  multitude  of  citizens,  he  did  all  he  could  to 
encourage  marriage.  In  order  to  it  he  pre- 
scribed a certain  loose  dress  for  the  Spartan 
maids,  in  which  there  were  several  artificial 
rents  and  openings,  that  upon  their  putting 
themselves  in  motion,  discovered  several  limbs 
of  the  body  to  the  beholders.  Such  were  the 
baits  and  temptations  made  use  of  by  that  wise 
lawgiver,  to  incline  the  young  men  of  his  age 
to  marriage.  But  when  the  maid  was  once 
sped,  she  was  not  suffered  to  tantalize  the  male 
part  of  the  commonwealth.  Her  garments  were 
closed  up,  and  stitched  together  with  the  greatest 
care  imaginable.  The  shape  of  her  limbs  and 
complexion  of  her  body  had  gained  their  ends, 
and  were  ever  after  to  be  concealed  from  the 
notice  of  the  public. 

I shall  conclude  this  discourse  of  the  tucker 
with  a moral  which  I have  taught  upon  all  oc- 
casions, and  shall  still  continue  to  inculcate  into 
my  female  readers;  namely,  that  nothing  be 
stows  so  much  beauty  on  a woman  as  modesty.. 
This  is  a maxim  laid  down  by  Ovid  himself, 
the  greatest  master  in  the  art  of  love.  He  ob- 
serves upon  it,  that  Venus  pleases  most  when 
she  appears  (semi-reducta)  in  a figure  with- 
drawing herself  from  the  eye  of  the  beholder.  It 
is  very  probable  he  had  in  his  thoughts  the  sta- 
tue which  we  see  in  the  Venus  de  Medicis, 
where  she  is  represented  in  such  a shy  retiring 
posture,  and  covers  her  bosom  with  one  of  her 
hands.  In  short,  modesty  gives  the  maid  greater 
beauty  than  even  the  bloom  of  youth,  it  bestows 
on  the  wife  the  dignity  of  a matron,  and  rein- 
states the  widow  in  her  virginity.  [O* 


No.  101.]  Tuesday,  July  7, 1713. 

Tros  Tyriusve  mihi  nullo  discrimine  habetur.  ’ 
Virg.  iEn.  i.  578. 

Trojan  and  Tyrian  differ  but  in  name, 

Both  to  my  favour  have  an  equal  claim. 

This  being  the  great  day  of  thanksgiving 
for  the  peace,  I shall  present  my  reader  with  a 
couple  of  letters  that  are  the  fruits  of  it.  They 
are  written  by  a gentleman  who  has  taken  this 
opportunity  to  see  France,  and  has  given  his 
friends  in  England  a general  account  of  what 
he  has  there  met  with,  in  several  epistles.  Those 
which  follow  were  put  into  my  hands  with 
liberty  to  make  them  public,  and  I question  not 
but  my  reader  will  think  himself  obliged  to  me 
for  so  doing. 

‘ Sir, — Since  I had  the  happiness  to  see  you 
last,  I have  encountered  as  many  misfortunes 
as  a knight-errant.  I had  a fall  into  the  water 


144 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


at  Calais,  and  since  that,  several  bruises  upon 
the  land,  lame  post-horses  by  day,  and  hard 
beds  at  night,  with  many  other  dismal  adven- 
tures, 

“ Cluorum  animus  meminisse  horret  luctuqiie  refugit.” 
Virg.  ii.  12. 

“ At  which  my  memory  with  grief  recoils.” 

‘ My  arrival  at  Paris  w'as  at  first  no  less  un- 
comfortable, where  I could  not  see  a face  nor 
hear  a word  that  I ever  met  with  before  ; so  that 
my  most  agreeable  companions  have  been  sta- 
tues and  pictures,  which  are  many  of  them  very 
extraordinary ; but  what  particularly  recom- 
mends them  to  me  is,  that  they  do  not  speak 
French,  and  have  a very  good  quality,  rarely  to 
be  met  with  in  this  country,  of  not  being  too 
talkative. 

‘ I am  settled  for  some  time  at  Paris.  Since 
my  being  here  I have  made  the  tour  of  all  the 
king’s  palaces,  which  has  been,  I think,  the 
pleasantest  part  of  my  life.  I could  not  believe 
it  was  in  the  power  of  art,  to  furnish  out  such 
a multitude  of  noble  scenes  as  I there  met  with, 
or  that  so  many  delightful  prospects  could  lie 
within  the  compass  of  a man’s  imagination. 
There  is  every  thing  done  that  can  be  e.xpected 
from  a prince  who  removes  mountains,  turns 
the  course  of  rivers,  raises  woods  in  a day’s 
time,  and  plants  a village  or  town  on  such  a 
particular  spot  of  ground,  only  for  the  bettering 
of  a view.  One  would  wonder  to  see  how  many 
tricks  he  has  made  the  water  play  for  his  diver- 
sion. It  turns  itself  into  pyramids,  triumphal 
arches,  glass  bottles,  imitates  a fire  work,  rises 
in  a mist,  or  tells  a story  out  of  A3sop. 

‘ I do  not  believe,  as  good  a poet  as  you  are, 
that  you  can  make  finer  landscapes  than  those 
about  the  king’s  houses,  or,  with  all  your  de- 
scriptions, raise  a more  magnificent  palace  than 
Versailles.  I am,  however,  so  singular  as  to 
prefer  Fontainbleau  to  all  the  rest.  It  is  situated 
among  rocks  and  woods,  that  give  you  a fine 
variety  of  salvage  prospects.  The  king  has  hu- 
moured the  genius  of  the  place,  and  only  made 
use  of  so  much  art  as  is  necessary  to  help  and 
regulate  nature,  without  reforming  her  too 
much.  The  cascades  seem  to  break  through  the 
clefts  and  cracks  of  rocks  that  are  covered  over 
with  moss,  and  look  as  if  they  were  piled  upon 
one  another  by  accident.  There  is  an  artificial 
wildness  in  the  meadows,  walks,  and  canals  ; 
and  the  garden,  instead  of  a wall,  is  fenced  on 
the  lower  end  by  a natural  mound  of  rock-work 
that  strikes  the  eye  very  agreeably.  For  my 
part,  I think  there  is  something  more  charming 
in  these  rude  heaps  of  stone  than  in  so  many 
statues,  and  would  as  soon  see  a river  winding 
through  woods  and  meadows,  as  when  it  is  toss- 
ed up  in  so  many  whimsical  figures  at  Versailles. 
To  pass  from  works  of  nature  to  those  of  art : 
In  my  opinion  the  pleasantest  part  of  Versailles 
is  the  gallery.  Every  one  sees  on  each  side  of 
it  something  that  will  be  sure  to  please  him. 
For  one  of  them  commands  a view  of  the  finest 
garden  in  the  world,  and  the  other  is  wainscoted 
with  looking-glass.  The  history  of  the  present 
king  until  the  year  1 6 — is  painted  on  the  roof 
by  Le  Brun,  so  that  his  majesty  has  actions 


[No.  101. 

enough  by  him  to  furnish  another  gallery  much 
longer  than  the  present. 

‘ The  painter  has  represented  his  most  Chris- 
tian majesty  under  the  figure  of  Jupiter,  throw- 
ing thunderbolts  all  about  the  ceiling,  and  strik- 
ing terror  into  the  Danube  and  Rhine,  that  lie 
astonished  and  blasted  wuth  lightning  a little 
above  the  cornice. 

‘ But  what  makes  all  these  shows  the  more 
agreeable,  is  the  great  kindness  and  affability 
that  is  shown  to  strangers.  If  the  French  do 
not  excel  the  English  in  all  the  arts  of  humani- 
ty, they  do  at  least  in  the  outward  expressions 
of  it.  And  upon  this,  as  well  as  other  accounts, 
though  I believe  the  English  are  a much  wiser 
nation,  the  French  are  undoubtedly  much  more 
happy.  Their  old  men  in  particular  are,  I be- 
lieve, the  most  agreeable  in  the  world.  An  an- 
tediluvian could  not  have  more  life  and  brisk- 
ness in  him  at  threescore  and  ten  : for  that  fire 
and  levity  which  makes  the  young  ones  scarce 
conversible,  when  a little  wasted  and  tempered 
by  years,  makes  a very  pleasant  and  gay  old 
age.  Besides,  this  national  fault  of  being  so 
very  talkative  looks  natural  and  graceful  in  one 
that  has  gray  hairs  to  countenance  it.  The 
mentioning  this  fault  in  the  French  must  put 
me  in  mind  to  finish  my  letter,  lest  you  think 
me  already  too  much  infected  by  their  conver- 
sation ; but  I must  desire  you  to  consider,  that 
travelling  does  in  this  respect  lay  a little  claim 
to  the  privilege  of  old  age.  I am,  sir,  Ac.’ 

‘ Blois,  May  15.  N.  S. 

‘ Sir, — I cannot  pretend  to  trouble  you  with 
any  news  from  this  place,  where  the  only  ad- 
vantage I have  besides  getting  the  language,  is 
to  see  the  manners  and  tempers  of  the  people, 
which  I believe  may  be  better  learnt  here  than 
in  courts  and  greater  cities,  where  artifice  and 
disguise  are  more  in  fashion. 

‘ I have  already  seen,  as  I informed  you  in 
my  last,  all  the  king’s  palaces,  and  have  now 
seen  a great  part  of  the  country.  I never 
thought  there  had  been  in  the  world  such  an  ex- 
cessive magnificence  or  poverty  as  I have  met 
with  in  both  together.  One  can  scarce  conceive 
the  pomp  that  appears  in  every  thing  about  the 
king;  but  at  the  same  time  it  makes  half  his 
subjects  go  bare-foot.  The  people  are,  however, 
the  happiest  in  the  world,  and  enjoy,  from  the 
benefit  of  their  climate,  and  natural  constitution, 
such  a perpetual  gladness  of  heart  and  easiness 
of  temper  as  even  liberty  and  plenty  cannot  be- 
stow on  those  of  other  nations.  It  is  not  in  the 
power  of  want  or  slavery  to  make  them  misera- 
ble. There  is  nothing  to  be  met  with  in  the 
country  but  mirth  and  poverty.  Every  one 
sings,  laughs,  and  starves.  Their  conversation 
is  generally  agreeable  ; for  if  they  have  any  wit 
or  sense,  they  are  sure  to  show  it.  They  never 
mend  upon  a second  meeting,  but  use  all  the 
freedom  and  familiarity  at  first  sight,  that  a 
long  intimacy  or  abundance  of  wine,  can  scarce 
draw  from  an  Englishman.  Their  women  are 
perfect  mistresses  in  the  art  of  showing  them- 
selves to  the  best  advantage.  They  are  always 
gay  and  sprightly,  and  set  off  the  worst  faces 
in  Europe  with  the  best  airs.  Every  one  knows 
how  to  give  herself  as  charming  a look  and  pos- 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


145 


No.  103.] 

turo  as  sir  Godfrey  Kneller  could  draw  her  in. 
I cannot  end  my  letter  without  observing-,  that 
from  what  I have  already  seen  of  the  world,  I 
cannot  but  set  a particular  mark  of  distinction 
upon  those  who  abound  most  in  the  virtues  of 
their  nation,  and  least  with  its  imperfections. 
When,  therefore,  I see  the  good  sense  of  an 
Englishman  in  its  highest  perfection  without 
any  mixture  of  the  spleen,  I hope  you  will  ex- 
cuse me,  if  I admire  the  character,  and  am  am- 
bitious of  subscribing  myself,  sir,  yours,  &c.’ 

0= 


No.  102.J  Wednesday,  July  8,  1713. 

Natos  ad  flumina  primum 

Deferimus,  saevoque  gelu  duramus  et  undis. 

Virg.  iEn.  ix.  603. 

Strong  from  the  cradle,  of  a sturdy  brood, 

We  bear  our  new-born  infants  to  the  flood; 

There  bath’d  amid  the  stream,  our  boys  we  hold. 

With  winter  harden’d,  and  inur’d  to  cold.  Dryden. 

I AM  always  beating  about  in  my  thoughts 
for  something  that  may  turn  to  the  benefit  of 
my  dear  countrymen.  The  present  season  of 
the  year  having  put  most  of  them  in  slight  sum- 
mer-suits, has  turned  my  speculations  to  a sub- 
ject that  concerns  every  one  who  is  sensible  of 
cold  or  heat,  which  I believe  takes  in  the  great- 
est part  of  my  readers. 

There  is  nothing  in  nature  more  inconstant 
than  the  British  climate,  if  we  except  the  hu- 
mour of  its  inhabitants.  We  have  frequently  in 
one  day  all  the  seasons  of  the  year.  I have 
shivered  in  the  dog-days,  and  been  forced  to 
throw  off  my  coat  in  January.  I have  gone  to 
bed  in  August,  and  rose  in  December.  Summer 
has  often  caught  me  in  my  drap  de  Berry,  and 
winter  in  my  Doily  suit. 

I remember  a very  whimsical  fellow  (com- 
monly known  by  the  name  of  Posture-master) 
in  king  Charles  the  Second’s  reign,  who  was 
the  plague  of  all  the  tailors  about  town.  He 
would  often  send  for  one  of  them  to  take  mea- 
sure of  him,  but  would  so  contrive  it  as  to  have 
a most  immoderate  rising  in  one  of  his  shoul- 
ders. When  the  clothes  were  brought  home 
and  tried  upon  him,  the  deformity  was  removed 
into  the  other  shoulder.  Upon  which  the  tailor 
begged  pardon  for  the  mistake,  and  mended  it 
as  fast  as  he  could,  but  upon  a third  trial  found 
him  a straight-shouldered  man  as  one  would  de- 
sire to  see,  but  a little  unfortunate  in  a hump 
back.  In  short,  this  wandering  tumour  puzzled 
all  the  workmen  about  town,  who  found  it  im- 
possible to  accommodate  so  changeable  a cus- 
tomer. My  reader  will  apply  this  to  any  one 
who  would  adapt  a suit  to  a season  of  our  Eng- 
lish climate. 

After  this  short  descant  on  the  uncertainty 
of  our  English  weather,  I come  to  my  moral. 

A man  should  take  care  that  his  body  be  not 
too  soft  for  his  climate;  but  rather,  if  possible, 
harden  and  season  himself  beyond  the  degree 
of  cold  wherein  he  lives.  Daily  experience 
teaches  us  how  we  may  inure  ourselves  by  cus- 
tom to  bear  the  extremities  of  weather  without 
injury.  The  inhabitants  of  Nova  Zembla  go 


naked,  without  complaining  of  the  bleakness  of 
the  air  in  which  they  are  born,  as  the  armies  of 
the  northern  nations  keep  the  field  all  winter. 
The  softest  of  our  British  ladies  expose  their 
arms  and  necks  to  the  open  air,  which  the  men 
could  not  do  without  catching  cold,  for  want  of 
being  accustomed  to  it.  The  whole  body  by 
the  same  means  might  contract  the  same  firm- 
ness and  temper.  The  Scythian  that  was  asked 
how  it  was  possible  for  the  inhabitants  of  his 
frozen  climate  to  go  naked,  replied,  ‘Because 
we  are  all  over  face.’  Mr.  Locke  advises  pa- 
rents to  have  their  children’s  feet  washed  every 
morning  in  cold  water,  which  might  probably 
prolong  multitudes  of  lives. 

I verily  believe  a cold  bath  would  be  one  of 
the  most  healthful  exercises  in  the  world,  were 
it  made  use  of  in  the  education  of  youth.  It 
would  make  their  bodies  more  than  proof  to  the 
injuries  of  the  air  and  weather.  It  would  be 
something  like  what  the  poets  tell  us  of  Achilles, 
whom  his  mother  is  said  to  have  dipped,  when 
he  was  a child,  in  the  river  Styx.  The  story 
adds,  that  this  made  him  invulnerable  all  over, 
excepting  that  part  which  his  mother  held  in 
her  hand  during  this  immersion,  and  which  by 
that  means  lost  the  benefit  of  ihese  hardening 
waters.  Our  common  practice  runs  in  a quite 
contrary  method.  We  are  perpetually  softening 
ourselves  by  good  fires  and  warm  clothes.  The 
air  within  our  rooms  has  generally  two  or  three 
degrees  more  of  heat  in  it  than  the  air  without 
doors. 

Crassus  is  an  old  lethargic  valetudinarian. 
For  these  twenty  years  last  past  he  has  been 
clothed  in  frize  of  the  same  colour,  and  of  the 
same  piece.  He  fancies  he  should  catch  his 
death  in  any  other  kind  of  manufacture ; and 
though  his  avarice  would  incline  him  to  wear 
it  until  it  was  threadbare,  he  dares  not  do  it  lest 
he  should  take  cold  when  the  knap  is  off.  He 
could  no  more  live  without  his  frize  coat,  than 
without  his  skin.  It  is  not  indeed  so  properly 
his  coat  as  what  the  anatomists  call  one  of  the 
integuments  of  the  body. 

How  different  an  old  man  is  Crassus  from 
myself!  It  is,  indeed,  the  particular  distinction 
of  the  Ironsides  to  be  robust  and  hardy,  to  defy 
the  cold  and  rain,  and  let  the  weather  do  its 
worst.  My  father  lived  till  a hundred  without 
a cough ; and  we  have  a tradition  in  the  family 
that  my  grandfather  used  to  throw  off  his  hat, 
and  go  open-breasted,  after  fourscore.  As  for 
myself,  they  used  (jd  sowse  me  over  head  and 
ears  in  water  when  I was  a boy,  so  that  I am 
now  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  case-har- 
dened of  the  whole  family  of  the  Ironsides.  In 
short,  I have  been  so  plunged  in  water  and 
inured  to  the  cold,  that  I regard  myself  as  a 
piece  of  true  tempered  Steel,  and  can  say  with 
the  above-mentioned  Scythian,  that  I am  face, 
or,  if  my  enemies  please,  forehead  all  over. 


No.  103.]  Thursday,  July  9,  1713. 

Dum  flaramas  Jovis,  et  sonitus  imitatur  olympi. 

Virg.  iEn.  vi.  586. 

With  mimic  thunder  impiously  he  plays, 

And  darts  the  artificial  lightning’s  blaze. 

13' 


146 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


I AM  considering'  how  most  of  the  great  phe- 
nomena or  appearances  in  nature,  have  been 
imitated  by  the  art  of  man.  Thunder  is  grown 
a common  drug  among  the  chymists.  Lightning 
may  be  bought  by  the  pound.  If  a man  has  oc- 
casion for  a lambent  flame,  you  have  whole 
sheets  of  it  in  a handful  of  phosphor.  Showers 
of  rain  are  to  be  met  with  in  every  water  work; 
and  we  are  informed,  that  some  years  ago  the 
virtuosos  of  France  covered  a little  vault  with 
artificial  snow,  which  they  made  to  fall  above 
an  hour  together  for  the  entertainment  of  his 
present  majesty. 

I am  led  into  this  train  of  thinking  by  the 
noble  fire-work  that  was  exhibited  last  night 
upon  the  Thames.  You  might  there  see  a 
little  sky  filled  with  innumerable  blazing  stars 
and  meteors.  Nothing  could  be  more  astonish- 
ing than  the  pillars  of  flame,  clouds  of  smoke, 
and  multitudes  of  stars  mingled  together  in 
such  an  agreeable  confusion.  Every  rocket 
ended  in  a constellation,  and  strowed  the  air 
with  such  a shower  of  silver  spangles,  as  opened 
and  enlightened  the  whole  scene  from  time  to 
time.  It  put  me  in  mind  of  the  lines  in  Oedipus, 

‘Why  from  the  bleeding  womb  of  monstrous  night 

Burst  forth  such  myriads  of  abortive  stars  V 

In  short,  the  artist  did  his  part  to  admiration, 
and  was  so  encompas'sed  with  fire  and  smoko 
that  one  would  have  thought  nothing  but  a 
salamander  could  have  been  safe  in  such  a 
situation. 

I was  in  company  with  two  or  three  fanciful 
friends  during  this  whole  show.  One  of  them 
being  a critic,  that  is  a man  who  on  all  occasions 
is  more  attentive  to  what  is  wanting  than  what 
is  present,  began  to  exert  his  talent  upon  the 
several  objects  we  had  before  us.  ‘ I am 
mightily  pleased,’  says  he,  ‘ with  that  burning 
cypher.  There  is  no  matter  in  the  world  so 
proper  to  write  with  as  wild-fire,  as  no  charac- 
ters can  be  more  legible  than  those  which  are 
read  by  their  own  light.  But  as  for  your  car- 
dinal virtues,  I do  not  care  for  seeing  them  in 
such  combustible  figures.  Who  can  imagine 
Chastity  with  a body  of  fire,  or  Temperance  in 
a flame  ? Justice  indeed  may  be  furnished  out 
of  this  element  as  far  as  her  sword  goes,  and 
Courage  may  be  all  over  one  continued  blaze,  if 
the  artist  pleases.’ 

Our  companion  observing  that  we  laughed  at 
this  unseasonable  severity,  let  drop  the  critic, 
and  proposed  a subject  for  a fire-work,  which 
he  thought  would  be  very  a^nusing,  if  executed 
by  so  able  an  artist  as  he  who  was  at  that  time 
entertaining  us.  The  plan  he  mentioned  was  a 
scene  in  Milton.  He  would  have  a large  piece 
of  machinery  represent  the  Pandaemonium, 
where, 

‘ from  the  arched  roof 

Pendant  by  subtle  magic,  many  a row 
Of  starry  lamps,  and  blazing  cressets,  fed 
With  naphtha  and  asphaltos,  yielded  light 
As  from  a sky' 

This  might  be  finely  represented  by  several  il- 
luminations disposed  in  a great  frame  of  wood, 
with  ten  thousand  beautiful  exhalations  of  fire, 
which  men  versed  in  this  art  know  very  well 
how  to  raise.  The  evil  spirits  at  the  same  time 
might  very  properly  appear  in  vehicles  of  flame. 


[No.  103. 

and  employ  all  the  tricks  of  art  to  terrify  and 
surprise  the  spectator. 

We  were  well  enough  pleased  with  this  start 
of  thought,  but  fancied  there  was  something  in 
it  too  serious,  and  perhaps  too  horrid,  to  be  put 
in  execution. 

Upon  this  a friend  of  mine  gave  us  an  account 
of  a fire-work  described,  if  I am  not  mistaken, 
by  Strada.  A prince  of  Italy  it  seems  enter- 
tained his  mistress  with  it  upon  a great  lake. 
In  the  midst  of  this  lake  was  a huge  floating 
mountain  made  by  art.  The  mountain  repre- 
sented iEtna,  being  bored  through  the  top  with 
a monstrous  orifice.  Upon  a signal  given  the 
eruption  began.  Fire  and  smoke,  mixed  with 
several  unusual  prodigies  and  figures,  made  their 
appearance  for  some  time.  On  a sudden  there 
was  heard  a most  dreadful  rumbling  noise  with- 
in the  entrails  of  the  machine.  After  which 
the  mountain  burst,  and  discovered  a vast  cavity 
in  that  side  which  faced  the  prince  and  his 
court.  Within  this  hollow  was  Vulcan’s  shop, 
full  of  fire  and  clock-work.  A column  of  blue 
flame  issued  out  incessantly  from  the  forge. 
Vulcan  was  employed  in  hammering  out  thun- 
derbolts, that  every  now  and  then  flew  up  from 
the  anvil  with  dreadful  cracks  and  flashes. 
Venus  stood  by  him  in  a figure  of  the  brightest 
fire,  with  numberless  cupids  on  all  sides  of  her, 
that  shot  out  volleys  of  burning  arrows.  Be- 
fore her  was  an  altar  with  hearts  of  fire  flaming 
on  it.  I have  forgot  several  other  particulars 
no  less  curious,  and  have  only  mentioned  these 
to  show  that  there  may  be  a sort  of  fable  or 
design  in  a fire-work  which  may  give  an  addi- 
tional beauty  to  those  surprising  objects. 

I seldom  see  any  thing  that  raises  wonder  in 
me  which  does  not  give  my  thoughts  a turn 
that  makes  my  heart  the  better  for  it.  As  I 
was  lying  in  my  bed,  and  ruminating  on  what 
I had  seen,  I could  not  forbear  reflecting  on  the 
insignificancy  of  human  art,  when  set  in  com- 
parison with  the  designs  of  Providence.  In 
the  pursuit  of  this  thought  I considered  a comet, 
or,  in  the  language  of  the  vulgar,  a blazing- 
star,  as  a sky-rocket  discharged  by  a hand  that 
is  Almighty.  Many  of  my  readers  saw  that  in 
the  year  1680,  and  if  they  are  not  mathemati- 
cians, will  be  amazed  to  hear  that  it  travelled 
in  a much  greater  degree  of  swiftness  than  a 
cannon-ball,  and  drew  after  it  a tail  of  fire  that 
was  fourscore  millions  of  miles  in  length.  What 
an  amazing  thought  it  is  to  consider  this  stu- 
pendous body  traversing  the  immensity  of  the 
creation  with  such  a rapidity,  and  at  the  same 
time,  wheeling  about  in  that  line  which  the  Al- 
mighty has  prescribed  for  it!  that  it  should 
move  in  such  inconceivable  fury  and  combustion, 
and  at  the  same  time  with  such  an  exact  regu- 
larity 1 How  spacious  must  the  universe  be  that 
gives  such  bodies  as  these  their  full  play,  with- 
out suffering  the  least  disorder  or  confusion  by 
it  I What  a glorious  show  are  those  beings  en- 
tertained with  that  can  look  into  this  great 
theatre  of  nature,  and  see  myriads  of  such  tre- 
mendous objects  wandering  through  those  im- 
measurable depths  of  aether,  and  running  their 
appointed  courses  ! Our  eyes  may  hereafter  be 
strong  enough  to  command  this  magnificent 
prospect,  and  our  understandings  able  to  find 


No.  104.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


147 


out  the  several  uses  of  these  great  parts  of  the 
universe.  In  the  mean  time  they  are  very  pro- 
per objects  for  our  imaginations  to  contemplate, 
that  we  may  form  more  exalted  notions  of  infi- 
nite  wisdom  and  power,  and  learn  to  think 
humbly  of  ourselves,  and  of  all  the  little  works 
of  human  invention.  03" 


No.  104.]  Friday,  July  10,  1713. 

Quffi  e longinquo  magis  placent.  Tacit, 

The  farther  fetch’d,  the  more  they  please. 

On  Tuesday  last  I published  two  letters 
written  by  a gentleman  in  his  travels.  As  they 
were  applauded  by  my  best  readers,  I shall  this 
day  publish  two  more  from  the  same  hand. 
The  first  of  them  contains  a matter  of  fact 
which  is  very  curious,  and  may  deserve  the  at- 
tention of  those  who  are  versed  in  our  British 
antiquities. 

‘ Blois,  May  15,  N.  S. 

‘ Sir, — Because  I am  at  present  out  of  the 
road  of  news,  I shall  send  you  a story  that  was 
lately  given  me  by  a gentleman  of  this  country, 
who  is  descended  from  one  of  the  persons  con- 
cerned in  the  relation,  and  very  inquisitive  to 
know  if  there  be  any  of  the  family  now  in  Eng- 
land. 

* I shall  only  premise  to  it,  that  this  story  is 
preserved  with  great  care  among  the  writings 
of  this  gentleman’s  family,  and  that  it  has  been 
given  to  two  or  three  of  our  English  nobility, 
when  they  were  in  these  parts,  who  could  not 
return  any  satisfactory  answer  to  the  gentleman, 
whether  there  be  any  of  that  family  now  remain- 
ing in  Great  Britain. 

‘ In  the  reign  of  king  John  there  lived  a no- 
bleman called  John  de  Sigonia,  lord  of  that  place 
in  Touraine;  his  brothers  were  Philip  and  Bri- 
ant.  Briant,  when  very  young,  was  made  one 
of  the  French  king’s  pages,  and  served  him  in 
that  quality  when  he  was  taken  prisoner  by  the 
English.  The  king  of  England  chanced  to  see 
the  youth,  and  being  much  pleased  with  his 
person  and  behaviour,  begged  him  of  the  king 
his  prisoner.  It  happened,  some  years  after  this, 
that  John,  the  other  brother,  who,  in  the  course 
of  the  war  had  raised  himself  to  a considerable 
post  in  the  French  army,  was  taken  prisoner  by 
Briant,  who  at  that  time  was  an  officer  in  the 
king  of  England’s  guards.  Briant  knew  nothing 
of  his  brother,  and  being  naturally  of  a haughty 
temper,  treated  him  very  insolently,  and  more 
like  a criminal  than  a prisoner  of  war.  This 
John  resented  so  highly,  that  he  challenged  him 
to  a single  combat.  The  challenge  was  accept- 
ed, and  time  and  place  assigned  them  by  the 
king’s  appointment.  Both  appeared  on  the  day 
prefixed,  and  entered  the  lists  completely  armed, 
amidst  a great  multitude  of  spectators.  Their 
first  encounters  were  very  furious,  and  the  suc- 
cess equal  on  both  sides ; until  after  some  toil 
and  bloodshed  they  were  parted  by  their  seconds 
to  fetch  breath,  and  prepare  themselves  afresh 
for  the  combat.  Briant,  in  the  mean  time,  had 
cast  his  eye  upon  his  brother’s  escutcheon,  which 
he  saw  agree  in  all  points  with  his  own.  I need 


not  tell  you  after  this,  with  what  joy  and  sur- 
prise the  story  ends.  King  Edward,  who  knew 
all  the  particulars  of  it,  as  a mark  of  his  esteem, 
gave  to  each  of  them,  by  the  king  of  France’s 
consent,  the  following  coat  of  arms,  which  I 
will  send  you  in  the  original  language,  not  be- 
ing herald  enough  to  blazon  it  in  English. 

“ Le  Roi  d’Angleterre  par  permission  du  Roi 
de  France,  pour  perpetuelle  memoire  de  leurs 
grands  faits  d’armes  et  fidelite  envers  leurs 
Rois,  leur  donna  par  ampliation  a leurs  armes 
en  une  croix  d’argen  cantonee  de  quatre  co- 
quilles  d’or  en  champ  de  sable,  qu’ils  avoient 
auparavant,  une  endenteleuse  faite  en  faqons  de 
croix  de  gueulle  inseree  au  dedans  de  la  ditte 
croix  d’argent  et  par  le  milieu  d’icelle  que  est 
participation  des  deux  croix  que  portent  les  dits 
Rois  en  la  guerre.” 

‘ I am  afraid  by  this  time  you  begin  to  won- 
der that  I should  send  you  for  news  a tale  of 
three  or  four  hundred  years  old;  and  I dare  say 
never  thought,  when  you  desired  me  to  write  to 
you,  that  I should  trouble  you  with  a story  of 
king  John,  especially  at  a time  when  there  is  a 
monarch  on  the  French  throne  that  furnishes 
discourse  for  all  Europe.  But  I confess  I am 
the  more  fond  of  the  relation,  because  it  brings 
to  mind  the  noble  exploits  of  our  own  country- 
men : though  at  the  same  time  I must  own  it  is 
not  so  much  the  vanity  of  an  Englishman  which 
puts  me  upon  writing  it,  as  that  I have  of  tak- 
ing an  occasion  to  subscribe  myself,  sir,  yours, 

&.C.’ 

‘ Blois,  May  20,  N.  S. 

‘Sir, — I am  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  your 
last  kind  letter,  which  was  the  only  English  that 
had  been  spoken  to  me  in  some  months  toge- 
ther, for  I am  at  present  forced  to  think  the  ab- 
sence of  my  countrymen  my  good  fortune  : 

Votum  in  amante  novum!  vellum  quod  amatur  abes- 
set.  Ovid.  Met.  Lib.  iii.  468. 

Strange  wish  to  harbour  in  a lover’s  breast! 

I wish  that  absent,  which  I love  the  best. 

‘ This  is  an  advantage  that  I could  not  have 
hoped  for,  had  I stayed  near  the  French  court, 
though  I must  confess  I would  not  but  have 
seen  it,  because  I believe  it  showed  me  some  of 
the  finest  places,  and  of  the  greatest  persons,  in 
the  world.  One  cannot  hear  a name  mentioned 
in  it  that  does  not  bring  to  mind  a piece  of  a 
gazette,  nor  see  a man  that  has  not  signalised 
himself  in  a battle.  One  would  fancy  one’s  self 
to  be  in  the  enchanted  palaces  of  a romance ; 
one  meets  so  many  heroes,  and  finds  something 
so  like  scenes  of  magic  in  the  gardens,  statues, 
and  water- works.  I am  ashamed  that  I am  not 
able  to  make  a quicker  progress  through  the 
French  tongue,  because  I believe  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  a learner  of  a language  to  find  in  any 
nation  such  advantages  as  in  this,  where  every 
body  is  so  very  courteous,  and  so  very  talkative. 
They  always  take  care  to  make  a noise  as  long 
as  they  are  in  company,  and  are  as  loud  any 
hour  in  the  morning,  as  our  own  countrymen 
at  midnight.  By  what  I have  seen,  there  is 
more  mirth  in  the  French  conversation,  and 
more  wit  in  the  English.  You  abound  more  in 
jests,  but  they  in  laughter.  Their  language  is, 
indeed,  extremely  proper  to  tattle  in,  it  is  rnado 


148 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  105. 


up  of  so  much  repetition  and  compliment.  One 
may  know  a foreigner  by  his  answering  only 
No  or  Yes  to  a question,  which  a Frenchman 
generally  makes  a sentence  of.  They  have  a 
set  of  ceremonious  phrases  that  run  through  all 
ranks  and  degrees  among  them.  Nothing  is 
more  common  than  to  hear  a shop-keeper  desir- 
ing his  neighbour  to  have  the  goodness  to  tell 
him  what  it  is  o’clock,  or  a couple  of  cobblers, 
that  are  extremely  glad  of  the  honour  of  seeing 
one  another. 

‘ The  face  of  the  whole  country  where  I now 
am,  is  at  this  season  pleasant  beyond  imagina- 
tion. I cannot  but  fancy  the  birds  of  this  place, 
as  well  as  the  men,  a great  deal  merrier  than 
those  of  our  own  nation.  I am  sure  the  French 
year  has  got  the  start  of  ours  more  in  the  works 
of  nature,  than  in  the  new  style.  I have  past 
one  March  in  my  life  without  being  ruffled  with 
the  winds,  and  one  April  without  being  washed 
with  rains.  I am,  sir,  yours.’  O" 


No.  105  ] Saturday,  July  11,  1713. 

Quod  neque  in  Armeniis  tigres  fecere  latebris  : 
Perdere  nec  foetus  ausa  Leaena  suos. 

At  teneroe  faciunt,  sed  non  impime,  puellse; 

Saepe,  suos  ulero  quae  necat,  ipsa  peril. 

• Ooid.  Amor.  Lib.  2.  Elsg.  xiv.  35. 

The  tigresses,  that  haunt  th’  Armenian  wood, 

Will  spare  their  proper  young,  tho’  pinclfd  for  food! 

Nor  will  the  Lybian  lionesses  slay 

Their  whelps:  but  w'omen  are  more  fierce  than  they, 

More  barbarous  to  the  tender  fruit  they  boar; 

Nor  Nature’s  call,  tlio’  bond  she  cries,  will  hear. 

But  righteous  vengeance  oft  their  crimes  pursue.s, 

And  they  are  lost  themselves  who  would  their  chil- 
dren lose.  Anon. 

There  was  no  part  of  the  show  on  the  thanks- 
giving day  that  so  much  pleased  and  affected 
me  as  the  little  boys  and  girls  who  were  ranged 
with  so  much  order  and  decency  in  that  part  of 
the  Strand  which  reaches  from  the  May-pole  to 
Exeter-change.  Such  a numerous  and  innocent 
multitude,  clothed  in  the  charity  of  their  bene- 
factors, was  a spectacle  pleasing  both  to  God 
and  man,  and  a more  beautiful  expression  of  joy 
and  thanksgiving  than  could  have  been  exhi- 
bited by  all  the  pomps  of  a Roman  triumph. — 
Never  did  a more  full  and  unspotted  chorus  of 
human  creatures  join  together  in  a hymn  of 
devotion.  The  care  and  tenderness  which  ap- 
peared in  the  looks  of  their  several  instructors, 
who  were  disposed  among  this  little  helpless 
people,  could  not  forbear  touching  every  heart 
that  had  any  sentiments  of  humanity. 

I am  very  sorry  that  her  majesty  did  not  see 
this  assembly  of  objects,  so  proper  to  excite  that 
charity  and  compassion  which  she  bears  to  all 
who  stand  in  need  of  it,  though,  at  the  same 
time,  I question  not  but  her  royal  bounty  will 
extend  itself  to  them.  A charity  bestowed  on 
the  education  of  so  many  of  her  young  subjects, 
has  more  merit  in  it  than  a thousand  pensions 
to  those  of  a higher  fortune  who  are  in  greater 
stations  in  life. 

I have  always  looked  on  this  institution  of 
charity  schools,  which  of  late  years  has  so  uni- 
versally prevailed  through  the  whole  nation,  as 
the  glory  of  the  age  we  live  in,  and  the  most 
proper  means  that  can  be  made  use  of  to  reco- 


ver it  out  of  its  present  degeneracy  and  depra- 
vation of  manners.  It  seems  to  promise  us  an 
honest  and  virtuous  posterity.  There  will  be 
few  in  the  next  generation  v/ho  will  not  at  least 
be  able  to  write  and  read,  and  have  not  had  an 
early  tincture  of  religion.  It  is  therefore  to  be 
hoped  that  the  several  persons  of  wealth  and 
quality,  who  made  their  procession  through  the 
members  of  these  new-erected  seminaries,  will 
not  regard  them  only  as  an  empty  spectacle,  or 
the  materials  of  a fine  show,  but  contribute  to 
their  maintenance  and  increase.  For  my  part, 
I can  scarce  forbear  looking  on  the  astonishing 
victories  our  arms  have  been  crowned  with,  to 
be  in  some  measure  the  blessings  returned  upon 
that  national  charity  which  has  been  so  conspi- 
cuous  of  late  ; and  that  the  great  successes  of 
the  last  war,  for  which  we  lately  offered  up  our 
thanks,  were  in  some  measure  occasioned  by 
the  several  objects  which  then  stood  before  us. 

Since  I am  upon  this  subject,  I shall  mention 
a piece  of  charity  which  has  not  been  yet  ex- 
erted among  us,  and  which  deserves  our  atten- 
tion the  more,  because  it  is  practised  by  most 
of  the  nations  about  us.  I mean  a provision  for 
foundlings,  or  for  those  children  who,  through 
want  of  such  a provision,  are  exposed  to  the 
barbarity  of  cruel  and  unnatural  parents.  One 
does  not  know  how  to  speak  on  such  a subject 
without  horror  : but  what  multitudes  of  infants 
have  been  made  away  by  those  who  brought 
them  into  the  world,  and  were  afterwards  either 
ashamed,  or  unable  to  provide  for  them ! 

Tliere  is  scarce  an  assizes  where  some  un- 
happy wretch  is  not  executed  for  the  murder  of 
a child.  And  how  many  more  of  these  monsters 
of  inhumanity  may  we  suppose  to  be  wholly  un- 
discovered, or  cleared  for  want  of  legal  evidence! 
Not  to  mention  those,  who,  by  unnatural  prac- 
tices, do  in  some  measure  defeat  the  intentions 
of  Providence,  and  destroy  their  conceptions 
even  before  they  see  the  light.  In  all  these,  the 
guilt  is  equal,  though  the  punishment  is  not  so. 
But  to  pass  by  the  greatness  of  the  crime  (which 
is  not  to  be  expressed  by  words)  if  we  only  con- 
sider it  as  it  robs  the  commonwealth  of  its  full 
number  of  citizens,  it  certainly  deserves  the  ut- 
most application  and  wisdom  of  a people  to  pre- 
vent it. 

It  is  certain,  that  which  generally  betrays 
these  profligate  women  into  it,  and  overcomes 
the  tenderness  which  is  natural  to  them  on  other 
occasions,  is  the  fear  of  shame,  or  their  inability 
to  support  those  whom  they  give  life  to.  I shall 
therefore  show  how  this  evil  is  prevented  in 
other  countries,  as  I have  learned  from  those 
who  have  been  conversant  in  the  several  great 
cities  of  Europe. 

There  are  at  Paris,  Madrid,  Lisbon,  Rome, 
and  many  other  large  towns,  great  hospitals 
built  like  our  colleges.  In  the  walls  of  these 
hospitals  are  placed  machines,  in  the  shape  of 
large  lanthorns,  with  a little  door  in  the  side  of 
them  turned  towards  the  street,  and  a bell  hang- 
ing  by  them.  The  child  is  deposited  in  this 
lanthorn,  which  is  immediately  turned  about 
into  the  inside  of  the  hospital.  The  person  who 
conveys  the  child,  rings  the  bell,  and  leaves  it 
there,  upon  which  the  proper  officer  comes  and 
receives  it  without  making  further  inquiries. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


149 


I No.  106.] 

I The  parent,  or  her  friend,  who  lays  the  child 
there,  generally  leaves  a note  with  it,  declaring 
j whether  it  be  yet  christened,  the  name  it  should 
be  called  by,  the  particular  marks  upon  it,  and 
f the  like. 

I It  oft'en  happens  that  the  parent  leaves  a 
note  for  the  maintenance  and  education  of  the 
child,  or  takes  it  out  after  it  has  been  some 
years  in  the  hospital.  Nay,  it  has  been  known 
that  the  father  has  afterwards  owned  the  young 
foundling  for  his  son,  or  left  his  estate  to  him. 
This  is  certain,  that  many  are  by  this  means 
preserved  and  do  signal  services  to  their  coun- 
try, who,  without  such  a provision,  might  have 
perished  as  abortives,  or  have  come  to  an  un- 
timely end,  and  perhaps  have  brought  upon 
their  guilty  parents  the  like  destruction. 

This  I think  is  a subject  that  deserves  our 
most  serious  consideration,  for  which  reason  I 
hope  I shall  not  be  thought  impertinent  in  lay- 

No.  106.]  Monday,  July  13, 1713. 

Q.uod  latet  arcand,  non  enarrabile,  fibid. 

Pers.  Sat.  v.  29. 

■ The  deep  recesses  of  the  human  breast. 

As  I was  making  up  my  Monday’s  provision 
I for  the  public,  I received  the  following  letter, 

I I which  being  a better  entertainment  than  any  I 

^ I can  furnish  out  myself,  I shall  set  it  before  the 

f I reader,  and  desire  him  to  fall  on  without  farther 

i j ceremony. 

j I ‘ Sir, — Your  two  kinsmen  and  predecessors 
of  immortal  memory,  were  very  famous  for 
their  dreams  and  visions,  and,  contrary  to  all 
other  authors,  never  pleased  their  readers  more 
than  when  they  were  nodding.  Now  it  is  ob- 
i served,  that  the  second  sight  generally  runs  in 
j the  blood  ; and,  sir,  we  are  in  hopes  that  you 
1 yourself,  like  the  rest  of  your  family,  may  at 
1 [ length  prove  a dreamer  of  dreams,  and  a seer 
i of  visions.  In  the  mean  while,  I beg  leave  to 

I make  you  a present  of  a dream,  which  may 
I ! serve  to  lull  your  readers  until  such  time  as 

j you  yourself  shall  think  fit  to  gratify  the  pub- 

I I lie  with  any  of  your  nocturnal  discoveries. 

‘You  must  understand,  sir,  I had  yesterday 
been  reading  and  ruminating  upon  that  passage 
where  Momus  is  said  to  have  found  fault  with 
, the  make  of  a man,  because  he  had  not  a wiri- 

Idow  in  his  breast.  The  moral  of  this  story  is 
very  obvious,  and  means  no  more  than  that  the 
heart  of  man  is  so  full  of  wiles  and  artifices, 
treachery  and  deceit,  that  there  is  no  guessing 
^ at  what  he  is,  from  his  speeches,  and  outward 
; appearances.  I was  immediately  reflecting  how 
happy  each  of  the  sexes  would  be,  if  there  was 
I a window  in  the  breast  of  every  one  that  makes 
. or  receives  love.  What  protestations  and  per- 
I juries  would  be  saved  on  the  one  side,  what 
hypocrisy  and  dissimulation  on  the  other  ! I 
am  myself  very  far  gone  in  this  passion  for 
I"  Aurelia,  a woman  of  an  unsearchable  heart. 

I would  give  the  world  to  know  the  secrets 
I of  it,  and  particularly  whether  I am  really  in 

il 


her  good  graces,  or  if  not,  who  is  the  happy 
person. 

‘ I fell  asleep  in  this  agreeable  reverie,  when 
on  a sudden  methought  Aurelia  lay  by  my  side. 
I was  placed  by  her  in  the  posture  of  Milton’s 
Adam,  and  “ with  looks  of  cordial  love  hung 
over  her  enamour’d.”  As  I cast  my  eye  upon 
her  bosom,  it  appeared  to  be  all  of  crystal,  and 
so  wonderfully  transparent  that  I saw  every 
thought  in  her  heart.  The  first  images  I dis- 
covered  in  it  were  fans,  silk,  ribands,  laces, 
and  many  other  gewgaws,  which  lay  so  thick 
together,  that  the  whole  heart  was  nothing  else 
but  a toy-shop.  These  all  faded  away  and  va- 
nished, when  immediately  I discerned  a long 
train  of  coaches  and  six,  equipages,  and  live- 
ries, that  ran  through  the  heart  one  after  another 
in  a very  great  hurry  for  above  half  an  hour 
together.  After  this,  looking  very  attentively, 
I observed  the  whole  space  to  be  filled  with  a 
hand  of  cards,  in  which  I could  see  distinctly 
three  mattadors.  There  then  followed  a quick 
succession  of  different  scenes.  A playhouse,  a 
church,  a court,  a puppet-show,  rose  up  one  af- 
ter another,  until  at  last  they  all  of  them  gave 
place  to  a pair  of  new  shoes,  which  kept  footing 
in  the  heart  for  a whole  hour.  These  were 
driven  off  at  last  by  a lap-dog,  who  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a guinea-pig,  a squirrel  and  a monkey. 
I myself,  to  my  no  small  joy,  brought  up  the 
rear  of  these  worthy  favourites.  I was  ravished 
at  being  so  happily  posted,  and  in  full  possession 
of  the  heart : but  as  I saw  the  little  figure  of 
myself  simpering  and  mightily  pleased  with  its 
situation,  on  a sudden  the  heart  methought  gave 
a sigh,  in  which,  as  I found  afterwards,  my  little 
representative  vanished  ; for,  upon  applying  my 
eye,  I found  my  place  taken  up  by  an  ill-bred, 
awkward  puppy,  with  a money-bag  under  each 
arm.  This  gentleman,  however,  did  not  keep  his 
station  long,  before  he  yielded  it  up  to  a wight  as 
disagreeable  as  himself,  with  a white  stick  in 
his  hand.  These  three  last  figures  represented 
to  me,  in  a lively  manner,  the  conflicts  in  Au- 
relia’s heart,  between  love,  avarice,  and  ambi- 
tion, for  we  justled  one  another  out  by  turns, 
and  disputed  the  post  for  a great  while.  But  at 
last,  to  my  unspeakable  satisfaction,  I saw  my- 
self entirely  settled  in  it.  I was  so  transported 
with  my  success,  that  I could  not  forbear  hug- 
ging my  dear  piece  of  crystal,  when,  to  my 
unspeakable  mortification,  I awaked,  and  found 
my  mistress  metamorphosed  into  a pillow. 

‘ This  is  not  the  first  time  I have  been  thus 
disappointed. 

‘ O venerable  Nestor,  if  you  have  any  skill 
in  dreams,  let  me  know  whether  I have  the 
same  place  in  the  real  heart,  that  I had  in  the 
visionary  one.  To  tell  you  truly,  I am  perplexed 
to  death  between  hope  and  fear.  I was  very 
sanguine  until  eleven  o’clock  this  morning, 
when  I overheard  an  unlucky  old  woman  tell- 
ing her  neighbour  that  dreams  always  went  by 
contraries.  I did  not,  indeed,  before  much  like 
the  crystal  heart,  remembering  that  confounded 
simile  in  Valentinian,  of  a maid  “ as  cold  as 
crystal  never  to  be  thaw'ed.”  Besides,  I verily 
believe  if  I had  slept  a little  longer,  that  awk 
ward  whelp  with  his  money-bags,  would  cer- 
tainly have  made  his  second  entrance.  If  you 
13=^ 


150 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  107. 


can  tell  the  fair  one’s  mind,  it  will  be  no  small 
proof  of  your  art,  for  I dare  say  it  is  more  than 
she  herself  can  do.  Every  sentence  she  spea,ks 
is  a riddle  ; all  that  I can  be  certain  of  is,  that 
I am  her  and  your  humble  servant, 

‘ PETER  PUZZLE.’ 


No.  107.]  Tuesday^  July  14,  1713. 

tendanda  via  est Virg,  Georg,  iii.  8. 

I ’ll  try  the  experiment. 

I HAVE  lately  entertained  my  reader  with 
two  or  three  letters  from  a traveller,  and  may 
possibly,  in  some  of  my  future  papers,  oblige 
him  with  more  from  the  same  hand.  The  fol- 
lowing one  comes  from  a projector,  which  is  a 
sort  of  correspondent  as  diverting  as  a travel- 
ler ; his  subject  having  the  same  grace  of  novel- 
ty to  recommend  it,  and  being  equally  adapted 
to  the  curiosity  of  the  reader.  For  my  own 
part,  I have  always  had  a particular  fondness 
for  a project,  and  may  say  without  vanity,  that 
I have  a pretty  tolerable  genius  that  way  my- 
self. I could  mention  some  which  I have 
brought  to  maturity,  others  which  have  mis- 
carried, and  many  more  which  I have  yet  by 
me,  and  are  to  take  their  fate  in  the  world 
when  I see  a proper  juncture : I had  a hand  in 
the  land-bank,  and  was  consulted  with  upon  the 
reformation  of  manners.  I have  had  several 
designs  upon  the  Thames  and  the  New-river, 
not  to  mention  my  refinements  upon  lotteries 
and  insurances,  and  that  never-to-be-forgotten 
project,  which,  if  it  had  succeeded  to  my  wishes, 
would  have  made  gold  as  plentiful  in  this  nation 
as  tin  or  copper.  If  my  countrymen  have  not 
reaped  any  advantages  from  these  my  designs, 
it  was  not  for  want  of  any  good-will  towards 
them.  They  are  obliged  to  me  for  my  kind 
intentions  as  much  as  if  they  had  taken  effect. 
Projects  are  of  a two-fold  nature : the  first 
arising  from  public-spirited  persons,  in  which 
number  I declare  myself : the  other  proceeding 
from  a regard  to  our  private  interest,  of  which 
nature  is  that  in  the  following  letter  ; 

‘ Sir, — A man  of  your  reading  knows  very 
well  that  there  were  a set  of  men  in  old  Rome, 
called  by  the  name  of  Nomenclators,  that  is, 
in  English,  men  who  call  every  one  by  his  name. 
When  a great  man  stood  for  any  public  office, 
as  that  of  a tribune,  a consul,  or  a censor,  he 
had  always  one  of  these  nomenclators  at  his 
elbow,  who  v/hispered  in  his  ear  the  name  of 
every  one  he  met  with,  and  by  that  means 
enabled  him  to  salute  every  Roman  citizen  by 
his  name  when  he  asked  him  for  his  vote.  To 
come  to  my  purpose  : I have  with  much  pains 
and  assiduity  qualified  myself  for  a nomencla- 
tor  to  this  great  city,  and  shall  gladly  enter 
upon  my  office  as  soon  as  I meet  with  suitable 
encouragement.  I will  let  myself  out  by  the 
week  to  any  curious  country  gentleman  or  fo- 
reigner. If  he  takes  me  with  him  in  a coach 
to  the  Ring,*  I will  undertake  to  teach  him,  in 
two  or  three  evenings,  the  names  of  the  most 
celebrated  persons  who  frequent  that  place.  If 

* The  Ring  in  Hyde-park,  at  this  time  a fashionable 
place  of  resort. 


he  plants  me  by  his  side  in  the  pit,  I will  call 
over  to  him,  in  the  same  manner,  the  whole 
circle  of  beauties  that  are  disposed  among  the 
boxes,  and  at  the  same  time  point  out  to  him 
the  persons  who  ogle  them  from  tlieir  respective 
stations.  I need  not  tell  you  that  I m^y  be  of 
the  same  use  in  any  other  public  assembly. 
Nor  do  I only  profess  the  teaching  of  names, 
but  of  things.  Upon  the  sight  of  a reigning 
beauty,  I shall  mention  her  admirers,  and  dis- 
cover her  gallantries,  if  they  are  of  public  no- 
toriety. I shall  likewise  mark  out  every  toast, 
the  club  in  which  she  was  elected,  and  the  num- 
ber of  votes  that  were  on  her  side.  Not  a 
woman  shall  be  unexplained  that  makes  a figure 
either  as  a maid,  a wife,  or  a widow.  The  men 
too  shall  be  set  out  in  their  distinguishing  cha- 
racters, and  declared  whose  properties  they  are. 
Their  wit,  wealth,  or  good-humour,  their  per- 
sons, stations,  and  titles,  shall  be  described  at 
large. 

‘ I have  a wife  who  is  a nomenclatress,  and 
will  be  ready,  on  any  occasion,  to  attend  the 
ladies.  She  is  of  a much  more  communicative 
nature  than  myself,  and  is  acquainted  with  all 
the  private  history  of  London  and  Westminster, 
and  ten  miles  round.  She  has  fifty  private 
amours  which  nobody  yet  knows  any  thing  of 
but  herself,  and  thirty  clandestine  marriages, 
that  have  not  been  touched  by  the  tip  of  a 
tongue.  She  will  wait  upon  any  lady  at  her 
own  lodgings,  and  talk  by  the  clock  after  the 
rate  of  three  guineas  an  hour. 

‘N.  B.  She  is  a near  kinswoman  of  the  author 
of  the  New  Atalantis. 

‘ I need  not  recommend  to  a man  of  your 
sagacity,  the  usefulness  of  this  project,  and  do 
therefore  beg  your  encouragement  of  it,  which 
will  lay  a very  great  obligation  upon  your  hum- 
ble servant.’ 

After  this  letter  from  my  whimsical  corres- 
pondent, I shall  publish  one  of  a more  serious 
nature,  which  deserves  the  utmost  attention  of 
the  public,  and  in  particular  of  such  who  are 
lovers  of  mankind.  It  is  on  no  less  a subject 
than  that  of  discovering  the  longitude,  and  de- 
serves a much  higher  name  than  that  of  a pro- 
ject, if  our  language  afforded  any  such  term. 
But  all  I can  say  on  this  subject  will  be  super- 
fluous  when  the  reader  sees  the  names  of  those 
persons  by  whom  this  letter  is  subscribed,  and 
who  have  done  me  the  honour  to  send  it  me.  I 
must  only  take  notice,  that  the  first  of  these 
gentlemen  is  the  same  person  who  has  lately 
obliged  the  world  with  that  noble  plan,  entitled 
A Scheme  of  the  Solar  System,  with  the  orbits 
of  the  planets  and  comets  belonging  thereto, 
described  from  Dr.  Halley’s  accurate  Table  of 
Comets,  Philosoph.  Trans.  No.  297,  founded  on 
sir  Isaac  Newton’s  wonderful  discoveries,  by 
William  Whiston,  M.  A. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside^  Esq. 

‘ At  Button's  Coffee-house^  near  Covent- Garden. 

‘ London,  July  11, 1713. 

‘ Sir, — Having  a discovery  of  considerable 
importance  to  communicate  to  the  public,  and 
finding  that  you  are  pleased  to  concern  your- 
self in  any  thing  that  tends  to  the  common  be- 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


151 


No.  108.] 

Tiefit  of  mankind,  we  take  the  liberty  to  desire 
the  insertion  of  this  letter  into  your  Guardian. 
We  expect  no  other  recommendation  of  it  from 
you,  but  the  allowing  of  it  a place  in  so  useful 
a paper.  Nor  do  we  insist  on  any  protection 
from  you,  if  w’hat  we  propose  should  fall  short 
of  what  we  pretend  to ; since  any  disgrace, 
which  in  that  case  must  be  expected,  ought  to 
lie  wholly  at  our  own  doors,  and  to  be  entirely 
borne  by  ourselves,  which  we  hope  we  have 
provided  for  by  putting  our  own  names  to  this 
paper. 

‘ It  is  well  known,  sir,  to  yourself  and  to  the 
learned,  and  trading,  and  sailing  world,  that 
the  great  defect  of  the  art  of  navigation  is,  that 
a ship  at  sea  has  no  certain  method,  in  either 
her  eastern  or  western  voyages,  or  even  in  her 
less  distant  sailing  from  the  coasts,  to  know  her 
longitude,  or  how  much  she  is  gone  eastward 
or  westward,  as  it  can  easily  be  known  in  any 
clear  day  or  night,  how  much  she  is  gone  north- 
ward  or  southward.  The  several  methods  by 
lunar  eclipses,  by  those  of  Jupiter’s  satellites, 
by  the  appulses  of  ihe  moon  to  fixed  stars,  and 
by  the  even  motions  of  pendulum  clocks  and 
watches,  upon  how  solid  foundations  soever  they 
are  built,  still  failing  in  long  voyages  at  sea, 
when  they  come  to  be  practised  ; and  leaving 
the  poor  sailors  frequently  to  the  great  inaccu- 
racy of  a log-line,  or  dead  reckoning.  This 
defect  is  so  great,  and  so  many  ships  have  been 
lost  by  it,  and  this  has  been  so  long  and  so  sen- 
sibly knov/n  by  trading  nations,  that  great  re- 
wards are  said  to  be  publicly  offered  for  its 
supply.  We  are  well  satisfied,  that  the  disco- 
very we  have  to  make  as  to  this  matter  is  easily 
intelligible  by  all,  and  ready  to  be  practised  at 
sea  as  well  as  at  land  ; that  the  latitude  will 
thereby  be  likewise  found  at  the  same  time; 
and  that  with  proper  charges  it  may  be  made 
as  universal  as  the  world  shall  please ; nay,  that 
the  longitude  and  latitude  may  be  generally 
hereby  determined  to  a greater  degree  of  exact- 
ness than  the  latitude  itself  is  now  usually  found 
at  sea.  So  that  on  all  accounts  we  hope  it  will 
appear  very  worthy  the  public  consideration. 
We  are  ready  to  disclose  it  to  the  world,  if  we 
may  be  assured  that  no  other  person  shall  be 
allowed  to  deprive  us  of  those  rewards  which 
the  public  shall  think  fit  to  bestow  for  such  a 
discovery ; but  do  not  desire  actually  to  receive 
any  benefit  of  that  nature  till  sir  Isaac  Newton 
himself,  with  such  other  proper  persons  as  shall 
be  chosen  to  assist  him,  have  given  their  opi- 
nion in  favour  of  this  discovery.  If  Mr.  Ironside 
pleases  so  far  to  oblige  the  public  as  to  commu- 
nicate this  proposal  to  the  world,  he  will  also 
lay  a great  obligation  on  his  very  humble  ser- 
vants, ‘ WILL.WHISTON, 

‘ HUMPHRY  DITTON.’ 

(cr 


No.  108.]  Wednesday^Jaly 

Abietibus  juvenes  patriis  et  montibus  aequi. 

Virg.  ^n.  ix.  674. 

Youths,  of  height  and  size, 

Like  firs  that  on  their  mother-mountain  rise. 

Dryden. 

I DO  not  care  for  burning  my  fingers  in  a 


quarrel,  but  since  I have  communicated  to  the 
world  a plan  which  has  given  offence  to  some 
gentlemen  whom  it  would  not  be  very  safe  to 
disoblige,  I must  insert  the  following  remon- 
strance ; and  at  the  same  time  promise  those  of 
my  correspondents  who  have  drawn  this  upon 
themselves,  to  exhibit  to  the  public  any  such 
answer  as  they  shall  think  proper  to  make  to  it. 

‘ Mr.  Guardian, — I was  very  much  troubled 
to  see  the  two  letters  which  you  lately  published 
concerning  the  short  club.  You  cannot  imagine 
what  airs  all  the  little  pragmatical  fellows  about 
us  have  given  themselves  since  the  reading  of 
those  papers.  Every  one  cocks  and  struts  upon 
it,  and  pretends  to  overlook  us  who  are  two 
feet  higher  than  themselves.  I met  with  one 
the  other  day  who  was  at  least  three  inches 
above  five  feet,  which  you  know  is  the  statut- 
able measure  of  that  club.  This  overgrown 
runt  has  struck  off  his  heels,  lowered  his  fore- 
top, and  contracted  his  figure,  that  he  might  be 
looked  upon  as  a member  of  this  new-erected 
society  ; nay,  so  far  did  his  vanity  carry  him, 
that  he  talked  familiarly  of  Tom  Tiptoe,  and 
pretends  to  be  an  intimate  acquaintance  of 
Tim  Tuck.  For  my  part,  I scorn  to  speak  any 
thing  to  the  diminution  of  these  little  creatures, 
and  should  not  have  minded  them  had  they  been 
still  shuffled  among  the  crowd.  Shrubs  and 
underwoods  look  well  enough  while  they  grow 
within  the  shades  of  oaks  and  cedars  ; but  when 
these  pigmies  pretend  to  draw  themselves  out 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  form  themselves 
into  a body,  it  is  time  for  us  who  are  men  of 
figure  to  look  about  us.  If  the  ladies  should 
once  take  a liking  to  such  a diminutive  race  of 
lovers,  we  should,  in  a little  time,  see  mankind 
epitomized,  and  the  whole  species  in  miniature ; 
daisy  roots*  would  grow  a fashionable  diet.  In 
order  therefore  to  keep  our  posterity  from 
dwindling,  and  fetch  down  the  pride  of  this 
aspiring  race  of  upstarts,  we  have  here  insti- 
tuted a tall  club. 

‘ As  the  short  club  consists  of  those  who  are 
under  five  feet,  ours  is  to  be  composed  of  such 
as  are  above  six.  These  we  look  upon  as  the 
two  extremes  and  antagonists  of  the  species; 
considering  all  those  as  neuters  who  fill  up  the 
middle  space.  When  a man  rises  beyond  six 
feet  he  is  a hypermeter,  and  may  be  admitted 
into  the  tall  club. 

‘ We  have  already  chosen  thirty  members, 
the  most  sightly  of  all  her  majesty’s  subjects. 
We  elected  a president,  as  many  of  the  ancients 
did  their  kings,  by  reason  of  his  height,  having 
only  confirmed  him  in  that  station  above  us 
which  nature  had  given  him.  He  is  a Scotch 
Highlander,  and  within  an  inch  of  a show.  As 
for  my  own  part,  I am  but  a sesquipedal,  hav- 
ing only  six  feet  and  a half  of  stature-  Being 
the  shortest  member  of  the  club,  I am  appointed 
secretary.  If  you  saw  us  all  together  you 
would  take  us  for  the  sons  of  Anak.  Our  meet- 
ings are  held  like  the  old  gothic  parliaments, 
sub  dio,  in  open  air ; but  we  shall  make  an  in- 
terest, if  we  can,  that  we  may  hold  our  assem- 


* Daisy  roots,  boiled  in  milk,  are  said  to  check  the 
growth  of  puppies. 


152 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


bli^s  in  Westminster-hall,  when  it  is  not  term 
time.  I must  add,  to  the  honour  of  our  club, 
that  it  is  one  of  our  society  who  is  now  finding 
out  the  longitude.  The  device  of  our  public 
seal  is,  a crane  grasping  a pigmy  in  his  right 
foot. 

‘ I know  the  short  club  value  themselves  very 
much  upon  Mr.  Distich,  who  may  possibly  play 
some  of  his  pentameters  upon  us,  but  if  he  does 
he  shall  certainly  be  answered  in  Alexandrines. 
For  we  have  a poet  among  us  of  a genius  as 
exalted  as  his  stature,  and  who  is  very  well 
read  in  Longinus’s  treatise  concerning  the 
sublime.*  Besides,  I would  have  Mr.  Distich 
consider,  that  if  Horace  was  a short  man,  Mu- 
S0BUS,  who  makes  such  a noble  figure  in  Virgil’s 
sixth  iEneid,  was  taller  by  the  head  and  should- 
ers than  all  the  people  of  Elysium.  I shall 
therefore  confront  his  lepidissimum  homuncio- 
nem  (a  short  quotation,  and  fit  for  a member  of 
their  club)  with  one  that  is  much  longer,  and 
therefore  more  suitable  to  a member  of  ours. 

‘ Quos  circumfiisos  sic  est  affata  Sibylla  ; 

Musjeum  ante  omnes  ; medium  nam  plurima  turba 

Hunc  habet,  atque  humeris  extantum  suscipit  altis.’ 
yirg.  JEn.  vi.  666. 

‘ To  these  the  Sibyl  thus  her  speech  address’d : 

And  first  to  himf  surrounded  by  the  rest ; 

Towering  his  height  and  ample  was  his  breast.’ 

Drijdcn. 

‘ If  after  all,  this  society  of  little  men  proceed 
as  they  have  begun,  to  magnify  themselves,  and 
lessen  men  of  higher  stature,  we  have  resolved 
to  make  a detachment,  some  evening  or  other, 
that  shall  bring  away  their  whole  club  in  a pair 
of  panniers,  and  imprison  them  in  a cupboard 
which  we  have  set  apart  for  that  use,  until  they 
have  made  a public  recantation.  As  for  the 
little  bully,  Tim  Tuck,  if  he  pretends  to  be 
choleric,  we  shall  treat  him  like  his  friend  little 
Dicky,  and  hang  him  upon  a peg  until  he  comes 
to  himself.  I have  told  you  our  design,  and  let 
their  little  Machiavel  prevent  it  if  he  can. 

‘ This  is,  sir,  the  long  and  the  short  of  the 
matter.  I am  sensible  I shall  stir  up  a nest  of 
wasps  by  it,  but  let  them  do  their  worst.  I 
think  that  we  serve  our  country  by  discourag- 
ing this  little  breed,  and  hindering  it  from 
coming  into  fashion.  If  the  fair  sex  look  upon 
us  with  an  eye  of  favour,  we  shall  make  some 
attempts  to  lengthen  out  the  human  figure,  and 
restore  it  to  its  ancient  procerity.  In  the  mean 
time  we  hope  old  age  has  not  inclined  you  in 
favour  of  our  antagonists  ; for  I do  assure  you 
sir,  we  are  all  your  high  admirers,  though  none 
more  than,  sir,  yours,  &c.’  iO" 


No.  109.]  Thursday^  July  16,  1713. 

Pugnabat  tunica  sed  tamen  ilia  tegi. 

Ovid.  Amor.  Lib.  1.  Eleg.  v.  14. 

Yet  still  she  strove  her  naked  charms  to  hide. 

I HAVE  received  many  letters  from  persons 
of  all  conditions,  in  reference  to  my  late  dis- 

* Leonard  Welsted,  whose  translation  of  Longinus 
first  appeared  in  1712. 
t Musisus. 


[No.  109. 

I course  concerning  the  tucker.  Some  of  them 
are  filled  with  reproaches  and  invectives.  A 
lady,  who  subscribes  herself  Teraminta,  bids 
me,  in  a very  pert  manner,  mind  my  own  af- 
fairs, and  not  pretend  to  meddle  with  their  linen; 
for  that  they  do  not  dress  for  an  old  fellow,  who 
cannot  see  them  without  a pair  of  spectacles. 
Another,  who  calls  herself  Bubnelia,  vents  her 
passion  in  scurrilous  terms;  an  old  ninnyham- 
mer,  a dotard,  a nincompoop,  is  the  best  lan- 
guage she  can  afford  me.  Florella,  indeed,  ex- 
postulates  with  me  upon  the  subject,  and  only 
complains  that  she  is  forced  to  return  a pair  of 
stays  which  were  made  in  the  extremity  of  the 
fashion,  that  she  might  not  be  thought  to  en- 
courage peeping. 

But  if  on  the  one  side  I have  been  used  ill, 
(the  common  fate  of  all  reformers,)  I have  on 
the  other  side  received  great  applauses  and  ac- 
knowledgments for  what  I have  done,  in  having 
put  a seasonable  stop  to  this  unaccountable  hu- 
mour of  stripping,  that  has  got  among  our  Bri- 
tish ladies.  As  I would  much  rather  the  world 
should  know  what  is  said  to  my  praise,  than  to 
my  disadvantage,  I shall  suppress  what  has  been 
written  to  me  by  those  who  have  reviled  me  on 
this  occasion,  and  only  publish  those  letters 
which  approve  my  proceedings. 

‘ Sir, — I am  to  give  you  thanks  in  the  name 
of  half  a dozen  superannuated  beauties,  for  your 
paper  of  the  sixth  instant.  We  all  of  us  pass  for 
women  of  fifty,  and  a man  of  your  sense  knows 
how  many  additional  years  are  always  to  be 
thrown  into  female  computations  of  this  nature. 
We  are  very  sensible  that  several  young  flirts 
about  town  had  a design  to  cast  us  out  of  the 
fashionable  world,  and  to  leave  us  in  the  lurch 
by  some  of  their  late  refinements.  Two  or  three 
of  them  have  been  heard  to  say,  that  they  would 
kill  every  old  woman  about  town.  In  order  to 
it,  they  began  to  throw  off  their  clothes  as  fast 
as  they  could,  and  have  played  all  those  pranks 
which  you  have  so  seasonably  taken  notice  of. 
We  were  forced  to  uncover,  after  them,  being 
unwilling  to  give  out  so  soon,  and  be  regarded 
as  veterans  in  the  beau  monde.  Some  of  us 
have  already  caught  our  deaths  by  it.  For  my 
own  part,  I have  not  been  without  a cold  ever 
since  this  foolish  fashion  came  up.  I have  fol- 
lowed it  thus  far  with  the  hazard  of  my  life; 
and  how  much  farther  I must  go  nobody  knows, 
if  your  paper  does  not  bring  us  relief.  You  may 
assure  yourself  that  all  the  antiquated  necks 
about  town  are  very  much  obliged  to  you. 
Whatever  fires  and  flames  are  concealed  in  our 
bosoms  (in  which  perhaps  we  vie  with  the 
youngest  of  the  sex)  they  are  not  sufficient  to 
preserve  us  against  the  wind  and  weather.  In 
taking  so  many  old  wmmen  under  your  care, 
you  have  been  a real  Guardian  to  us,  and  saved 
the  life  of  many  of  your  contemporaries.  In 
short,  we  all  of  us  beg  leave  to  subscribe  our- 
selves, most  venerable  Nestor,  your  humble  ser- 
vants and  sisters.’ 

I am  very  well  pleased  with  this  approbation 
of  my  good  sisters.  I must  confess  I have  al- 
ways looked  on  the  tucker  to  be  the  decus  et  tu- 


f 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


153 


No.  no.] 

i ■ tamen,*  the  ornament  and  defence,  of  the  female 
I neck.  My  good  old  lady,  the  lady  Lizard,  con- 
) demned  this  fashion  from  the  beginning,  and 
has  observed  to  me,  with  some  concern,  that 
her  sex,  at  the  same  time  they  are  letting  down 
their  stays,  are  tucking  up  their  petticoats, 
which  grow  shorter  and  shorter  every  day. 
The  leg  discovers  itself  in  proportion  with  the 
neck.  But  I may  possibly  take  another  occa- 

Ision  of  handling  this  extremity,  it  being  my 
design  to  keep  a watchful  eye  over  every  part 
of  the  female  sex,  and  to  regulate  them  from 
head  to  foot.  In  the  mean  time  I shall  fill  up 
my  paper  with  a letter  which  comes  to  me  from 
another  of  my  obliged  correspondents. 

‘ Dear  Guardee, — This  comes  to  you  from 
H one  of  those  untuckered  ladies  w-hom  you  were 
so  sharp  upon  on  Monday  was  se’nnight.  I 
think  myself  mightily  beholden  to  you  for  the 
reprehension  ypu  then  gave  us.  You  must 
know  I am  a famous  olive  beauty.  But  though 
this  complexion  makes  a very  good  face  when 
there  are  a couple  of  black  sparkling  eyes  set 
; in  it,  it  makes  but  a very  indifferent  neck. 
Your  fair  women,  therefore,  thought  of  this 
fashion  to  insult  the  olives  and  the  brunettes. 

! They  know  very  well,  that  a neck  of  ivory  does 
not  make  so  fine  a show  as  one  of  alabaster.  It 
is  for  this  reason,  Mr.  Ironside,  that  they  are  so 
liberal  in  their  discoveries.  We  know  very  well, 
that  a woman  of  the  whitest  neck  in  the  world, 
is  to  you  no  more  than  a woman  of  snow ; but 
Ovid,  in  Mr.  Duke’s  translation  of  him,  seems 
to  look  upon  it  with  another  eye,  when  he  talks 
of  Corinna,  and  mentions 

“ Iier  heaving  breast. 

Courting  the  hand,  and  suing  to  be  prest.” 

‘Women  of  my  complexion  ought  to  be  more 
modest,  especially  since  our  faces  debar  us  from 
all  artificial  whitenings.  Could  you  examine 
many  of  these  ladies  who  present  you  with  such 
beautiful  snowy  chests,  you  would  find  they  are 
not  all  of  a piece.  Good  father  Nestor,  do  not 
let  us  alone  until  you  have  shortened  our  necks, 
and  reduced  them  to  their  ancient  standard.  I 
am  your  most  obliged  humble  servant, 

‘OLIVIA.’ 

I shall  have  a just  regard  to  Olivia’s  remon- 
strance, though  at  the  same  time  I cannot  but 
observe  that  her  modesty  seems  to  be  entirely 
the  result  of  her  complexion.  [13" 


No.  110.]  Friday^  July  17,  1713. 

Non  ego  paucis 

Ofiendor  maculis,  quas  aut  incuria  fudit 

Aut  humana  paruin  cavit  natura 

; Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  351. 

; I will  not  quarrel  with  a slight  mistake. 

Such  as  our  nature’s  frailty  may  excuse. 

Roscommon. 

The  candour  which  Horace  shows  in  the 
motto  of  my  paper,  is  that  which  distinguishes 
a critic  from  a caviller.  He  declares  that  he  is 
I not  offended  with  those  little  faults  in  a poetical 

* The  words  milled  on  the  larger  silver  and  gold  coins 
of  this  kingdom. 

U 


composition,  which  may  be  imputed  to  inadver- 
tency, or  to  the  imperfection  of  human  nature. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  there  can  be  no  more  a per- 
fect work  in  the  world,  than  a perfect  man.  To 
say  of  a celebrated  piece,  that  there  are  faults 
in  it,  is  in  effect  to  say  no  more,  than  that  the 
author  of  it  was  a man.  For  this  reason,  I con- 
sider every  critic  that  attacks  an  author  in  high 
reputation,  as  the  slave  in  the  Roman  triumph, 
who  was  to  call  out  to  the  conqueror,  ‘ Remem- 
ber, sir,  that  you  are  a man.’  I speak  this  in 
relation  to  the  following  letter,  which  criticises 
the  works  of  a great  poet,  whose  very  faults 
have  more  beauty  in  them  than  the  most  elabo- 
rate compositions  of  many  more  correct  writers. 
The  remarks  are  very  curious  and  just,  and  in- 
troduced by  a compliment  to  the  work  of  an 
author,  who  I am  sure  would  not  care  for  being 
praised  at  the  expense  of  another’s  reputation. 
I must  therefore  desire  my  correspondent  to  ex- 
cuse me,  if  I do  not  publish  either  the  preface 
or  conclusion  of  his  letter,  but  only  the  critical 
part  of  it. 

‘ Sir, ******* 

**  ******* 

‘ Our  tragedy  writers  have  been  notoriously 
defective  in  giving  proper  sentiments  to  the  per- 
sons they  introduce.  Nothing  is  more  common 
than  to  hear  a heathen  talking  of  angels  and 
devils,  the  joys  of  heaven,  and  the  pains  of  hell, 
according  to  the  Christian  system.  Lee’s  Alex- 
der  discovers  him  to  be  a Cartesian  in  the  first 
page  of  CEdipus : 

“ The  sun's  sick  too, 

Shortly  he’ll  be  an  earth” 

As  Dryden’s  Cleomenes  is  acquainted  with  the 
Copernican  hypothesis,  two  thousand  years  be- 
fore its  invention. 

“I  am  pleas’d  with  my  own  work;  Jove  was  not  more 
^Vith  infant  nature,  when  his  spacious  hand 
Had  rounded  this  huge  ball  of  earth  and  seas. 

To  give  it  the  first  push,  and  see  it  roll 
Along  the  vast  abyss” 

‘ I have  now  Mr.  Dryden’s  Don  Sebastian 
before  me,  in  which  I find  frequent  allusions  to 
ancient  history,  and  the  old  mythology  of  the 
heathen.  It  is  not  very  natural  to  suppose  a 
king  of  Portugal  would  be  borrowing  thoughts 
out  of  Ovid’s  Metamorphoses  when  he  talked 
even  to  those  of  his  own  court ; but  to  allude  to 
these  Roman  fables  when  he  talks  to  an  empe- 
ror of  Barbary,  seems  very  extraordinary.  But 
observe  how  he  defies  him  out  of  the  classics,  in 
the  following  lines : 

“ Why  didst  not  thou  engage  me  man  to  man, 

And  try  th,e  virtue  of  that  Gorgon  face 
To  stare  me  into  statue  ?” 

‘ Almeyda,  at  the  same  time,  is  more  book- 
learned  than  Don  Sebastian.  She  plays  a hydra 
upon  the  emperor  that  is  full  as  good  as  the 
Gorgon. 

“ O that  I had  the  fruitful  heads  of  hydra. 

That  one  might  bourgeon  where  another  fell! 

Still  would  I give  thee  work,  still,  still,  thou  tyrant. 
And  hiss  thee  with  thee  last” 

‘ She  afterwards,  in  allusion  to  Hercules,  bids 
him  “ lay  down  the  lion’s  skin,  and  take  the 
distaff;”  and  in  the  following  speech  utters  her 
passion  still  more  learnedly. 


154 


'I’HE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  111. 


“ No!  were  we  join'd,  even  tho’  it  were  in  death, 
Our  bodies  burning  in  one  funeral  pile. 

The  prodigy  of  Thebes  wou’d  be  renewed, 

And  my  divided  tiame  should  break  from  thine.” 

‘ The  emperor  of  Barbary  shows  liimself  ac- 
quainted with  the  Roman  poets  as  well  as  either 
of  his  prisoners,  and  answers  the  foregoing 
speech  in  the  same  classic  strain : 

“ Serpent,  I will  engender  poison  with  thee ; 

Our  offspring,  like  the  seed  of  dragons’  teeth, 

Shall  issue  arm’d,  and  fight  themselves  to  death.” 

‘ Ovid  seems  to  have  been  Muley  Molock’s 
favourite  author,  witness  the  lines  that  follow ; 

“ She  still  ine.vorable,  still  imperious 

And  loud,  as  if,  like  Bacchus,  born  in  thunder.” 

‘ I shall  conclude  my  remarks  on  his  part 
with  that  poetical  complaint  of  his  being  in  love, 
and  leave  my  reader  to  consider  how  prettily  it 
would  sound  in  the  mouth  of  an  emperor  of  Mo- 
rocco : 

” The  god  of  love  once  more  has  shot  his  fires 
Into  my  soul,  and  my  whole  heart  receives  him.” 

‘ Muley  Zeydan  is  as  ingenious  a man  as  his 
brother  Muley  Molock;  as  where  he  hints  at 
the  story  of  Castor  and  Pollux  : 

“ May  we  ne’er  meet ! 

For  like  the  twins  of  Leda,  when  I mount, 

He  gallops  down  the  skies” 

‘As  for  the  mufti,  we  will  suppose  that  he 
was  bred  up  a scholar,  and  not  only  versed  in 
the  law  of  IMahomet,  but  acquainted  with  all 
kinds  of  polite  learning.  For  this  reason,  he  is 
not  at  all  surprised  when  Dorax  calls  him  a 
Phaeton  in  one  place,  and  in  another  tells  him 
he  is  like  Archimedes. 

‘ The  mufti  afterwards  mentions  Ximenes, 
Albornoz,  and  cardinal  VVolsey  by  name.  The 
poet  seems  to  think  he  may  make  every  person 
in  his  play  know  as  much  as  himself,  and  talk 
as  well  as  he  could  have  done  on  the  same  oc- 
casion. At  least  I believe  every  reader  will 
agree  with  me,  that  the  above-mentioned  senti- 
ments, to  which  I might  have  added  several 
others,  would  have  been  better  suited  to  the 
court  of  Augustus,  than  that  of  Muley  Molock. 
I grant  they  are  beautiful  in  themselves,  and 
much  more  so  in  that  noble  language  which 
was  peculiar  to  this  great  poet.  I only  observe 
that  they  are  improper  for  the  persons  who 
make  use  of  them.  Dryden  is,  indeed,  gene- 
rally wrong  in  his  sentiments.  Let  any  one 
read  the  dialogue  between  Octavia  and  Cleo- 
patra, and  he  will  be  amazed  to  hear  a Roman 
lady’s  mouth  filled  with  such  obscene  raillery. 
If  the  virtuous  Octavia  departs  from  her  cha- 
racter, the  loose  Dolabella  is  no  less  inconsist- 
ent with  himself,  when,  all  of  a sudden,  he  drops 
the  pagan,  and  talks  in  the  sentiments  of  re- 
vealed religion. 

“ Heaven  has  but 

Our  sorrow  for  our  sins,  and  then  delights 
To  pardon  erring  man.  Sweet  mercy  seems 
Its  darling  attribute,  which  limits  justice  ; 

X As  if  there  were  degrees  in  infinite  : 

And  infinite  would  rather  want  perfection 
"I  han  punish  to  extent” 

‘ I might  show  several  faults  of  the  same  na- 
ture in  the  celebrated  Aureng  Zebe.  The  im- 
propriety  of  thoughts  in  the  speeches  of  the 
great  mogul  and  his  empress  has  been  gene- 


rally censured.  Take  the  sentiments  out  of  the 
shining  dress  of  words,  and  they  would  be  too 
coarse  for  a scene  in  Billingsgate. 

********* 
‘ I am,  &c.’  O’ 


No.  111.]  Saturday^  July  18,  171.3. 

Hie  aliquis  de  gente  hircosa  Centurionum 
Dicat  : quod  satis  est  sapio  mihi  ; non  ego  euro 
Esse  quod  Arcesilas,  serumnosique  Solones. 

Pers.  Sat.  iii.  77. 

But  here,  some  captain  of  the  land  or  fleet. 

Stout  of  his  hands,  but  of  a soldier’s  wit, 

Cries,  I have  sense  to  serve  my  turn,  in  store  ; 

And  he ’s  a rascal  who  pretends  to  more  : 

Dammee,  whate’er  those  book-Iearn’d  blockheads  say, 
Solon’s  the  veriest  fool  in  all  the  play.  Dryden. 

I AM  very  much  concerned  when  I see  young 
gentlemen  of  fortune  and  quality  so  wholly  set 
upon  pleasures  and  diversions,  that  they  neglect 
all  those  improvements  in  wisdom  and  know- 
ledge which  may  make  them  easy  to  themselves, 
and  useful  to  the  world.  The  greatest  part  of 
our  British  youth  lose  their  figure,  and  grow 
out  of  fashion  by  that  time  they  are  five-and- 
twenty.  As  soon  as  the  natural  gayety  and 
amiableness  of  the  young  man  wears  off,  they 
have  nothing  left  to  recommend  them,  but  lie 
by  the  rest  of  their  lives  among  the  lumber  and 
refuse  of  the  species.  It  sometimes  happens, 
indeed,  that  for  want  of  applying  themselves  in 
due  time  to  the  pursuits  of  knowledge,  they 
take  up  a book  in  their  declining  years,  and 
grow  very  hopeful  scholars  by  that  time  they 
are  threescore.  I must,  therefore,  earnestly 
press  my  readers,  who  are  in  the  flower  of  their 
youth,  to  labour  at  those  accomplishments  which 
may  set  off  their  persons  when  their  bloom  is 
gone,  and  to  lay  in  timely  provisions  for  man- 
hood  and  old  age.  In  short,  I would  advise  the 
youth  of  fifteen  to  be  dressing  up  every  day  the 
man  of  fifty,  or  to  consider  how  to  make  him- 
self venerable  at  threescore. 

Young  men,  who  are  naturally  ambitious, 
would  do  well  to  observe  how  the  greatest  men 
of  antiquity  made  it  their  ambition  to  exeel 
all  their  contemporaries  in  knowledge.  Julius 
Cassar  and  Alexander,  the  most  celebrated  in- 
stances of  human  greatness,  took  a particular 
care  to  distinguish  themselves  by  their  skill  in 
the  arts  and  sciences.  We  have  still  extant 
several  remains  of  the  former,  which  justify 
the  character  given  of  him  by  the  learned  men 
of  his  own  age.  As  for  the  latter,  it  is  a known 
saying  of  his,  ‘ that  he  was  more  obliged  to 
Aristotle,  who  had  instructed  him,  than  to 
Philip,  who  had  given  him  life  and  empire. 
There  is  a letter  of  his  recorded  by  Plutarch 
and  Aulus  Gelius,  which  he  wrote  to  Aristotle 
upon  hearing  that  he  had  published  those  lec- 
tures he  had  given  him  in  private.  This  letter 
was  written  in  the  following  words,  at  a time 
when  he  was  in  the  height  of  his  Persian  con- 
quests. 

‘ Alexander  to  Aristotle.,  greeting. 

‘You  have  not  done  well  to  publi.sh  your 
books  of  Select  Knowledge  ; for  what  is  there 


No.  112.1 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


155 


now  in  which  I can  surpass  others,  if  those 
thing's  which  I have  been  instructed  in  are 
communicated  to  every  body  ? For  my  own 
part,  I declare  to  you,  I would  rather  excel 
others  in  knowledge  than  power.  Farewell.’ 

We  see  by  this  letter,  that  the  love  of  con- 
quest  was  but  the  second  ambition  in  Alexan- 
der’s soul.  Knowledge  is,  indeed,  that  which, 
next  to  virtue,  truly  and  essentially  raises  one 
man  above  another.  It  finishes  one  half  of 
the  human  soul.  It  makes  being  pleasant  to 
us,  fills  the  mind  with  entertaining  views,  and 
administers  to  it  a perpetual  series  of  gratifi- 
cations.  It  gives  ease  to  solitude,  and  graceful- 
ness to  retirement.  It  fills  a public  station  with 
suitable  abilities,  and  adds  a lustre  to  those  who 
are  in  possession  of  them. 

Learning,  by  which  I mean  all  useful  know- 
ledge, whether  speculative  or  practieal,  is,  in  po- 
pular and  mixt  governments,  the  natural  source 
of  wealth  and  honour.  If  we  look  into  most 
of  the  reigns  from  the  conquest,  we  shall  find 
that  the  favourites  of  eacli  reign  have  been 
those  who  have  raised  themselves.  The  great- 
est men  are  generally  the  growth  of  that  par- 
ticular age  in  which  they  flourish.  A superior 
capacity  for  business,  and  a more  extensive 
knowledge,  are  the  steps  by  which  a new  man 
often  mounts  to  favour,  and  outshines  the  rest 
of  his  contemporaries.  But  v/hen  men  are  ac- 
tually born  to  titles,  it  is  almost  impossible 
that  they  should  fail  of  receiving  an  additional 
greatness,  if  they  take  care  to  accomplish  them- 
selves for  it. 

The  story  of  Solomon’s  choice  does  not  only 
instruct  us  in  that  point  of  history,  but  furnish- 
es out  a very  fine  moral  to  us,  namely,  that  ho 
who  applies  his  heart  to  wisdom,  does  at  the 
same  time  take  the  most  proper  method  for 
gaining  long  life,  riches,  and  reputation,  which 
are  very  often  not  only  the  rewards,  but  the 
effects  of  wisdom. 

As  it  is  very  suitable  to  my  present  subject,  I 
shall  first  of  all  quote  this  passage  in  the  words 
of  sacred  writ,  and  afterwards  mention  an  al- 
legory, in  which  this  whole  passage  is  repre- 
sented by  a famous  French  poet : not  question- 
ing but  it  will  be  very  pleasing  to  such  of  my 
readers  as  have  a taste  of  fine  writing. 

‘ In  Gibeon  the  Lord  appeared  to  Solomon  in 
a dream  by  night : and  God  said.  Ask  what  I 
shall  give  thee.  And  Solomon  said.  Thou  hast 
showed  unto  thy  servant  David  my  father  great 
mercy,  according  as  he  walked  before  thee  in 
truth  and  in  righteousness,  and  in  uprightness 
of  heart  with  thee,  and  thou  hast  kept  for  him 
this  great  kindness,  that  thou  hast  given  him  a 
son  to  sit  on  his  throne,  as  it  is  this  day.  And 
now,  O Lord  my  God,  thou  hast  made  thy  ser- 
vant king  instead  of  David  my  father  : and  I 
am  but  a little  child ; I know  not  how  to  go  out 
or  come  in.  Give,  therefore,  thy  servant  an 
understanding  heart  to  judge  thy  people,  that  I 
may  discern  between  good  and  bad  : for  who  is 
able  to  judge  this  thy  so  great  a people  ? And 
the  speech  pleased  the  Lord,  that  Solomon  had 
asked  this  thing.  And  God  said  unto  him.  Be- 
cause thou  hast  asked  this  thing,  and  hast  not 
asked  for  thyself  long  life,  neither  hast  asked 
riches  for  thyself,  nor  hast  asked  the  life  of 


thine  enemio.s,  but  hast  asked  for  thyself  under- 
standing to  discern  judgment  : Behold  I have 
done  according  to  thy  words  : Lo,  I have  given 
thee  a wise  and  understanding  heart,  so  that 
there  was  none  like  thee  before  thee,  neither 
after  thee  shall  any  arise  like  unto  thee.  And 
I have  also  given  thee  that  which  thou  hast  not 
asked,  both  riches  and  honour,  so  that  there 
shall  not  be  any  among  the  kings  like  unto  thee 
all  thy  days.  And  if  thou  wilt  walk  in  my 
ways,  to  keep  my  statutes  and  my  command- 
ments, as  thy  father  David  did  walk,  then  I will 
lengthen  thy  days.  And  Solomon  awoke,  and 

behold  it  was  a dream.’ 

The  French  poet  has  shadowed  this  story  in 
an  allegory,  of  which  he  seems  to  have  taken 
the  hint  from  the  fable  of  the  three  goddesses 
appearing  to  Paris,  or  rather*  from  the  vision  of 
Hercules,  recorded  by  Xenophon,  where  Plea- 
sure and  Virtue  are  represented  as  real  persons 
making  their  court  to  the  hero  with  all  their  se- 
veral charms  and  allurements.  Health,  Wealth, 
Victory,  and  Honour  are  introduced  successively 
in  their  proper  emblems  and  characters,  each 
of  them  spreading  her  temptations,  and  recom- 
mending herself  to  the  young  monarch’s  choice. 
Wisdom  enters  the  last,  and  so  eaptivates  him 
with  her  appearance,  that  ha  gives  himself  up 
to  her.  Upon  which  she  informs  him,  that 
those  who  appeared  before  her  were  nothing 
else  but  her  equipage  : and  that  since  he  had 
placed  his  heart  upon  Wisdom  ; Health,  Wealth, 
Victory,  and  Honour,  should  always  wait  on 
her  as  her  handmaids.  O’ 


No.  112.]  Monday^  /uZy20,  1713. 

udam 

Spernit  humum  fugiente  pennd. 

Hot.  Lib.  3.  Od.  ii.  23. 

Scorns  the  base  earth,  and  crowd  below  ; 

And  with  a soaring  wing  still  mounts  on  high. 

Creech. 

The  philosophers  of  king  Charles’s  reign  were 
busy  in  finding  out  the  art  of  flying.  The  famous 
bishop  Wilkins  was  so  eonfident  of  success  in  it, 
that  he  says  he  does  not  question  but  in  the  next 
age  it  will  be  as  usual  to  hear  a man  call  for 
his  wings  when  he  is  going  a journey,  as  it  is 
now  to  call  for  his  boots.  The  humour  so  pre- 
vailed among  the  virtuosos  of  this  reign,  that 
they  were  actually  making  parties  to  go  up  to 
the  moon  together,  and  were  more  put  to  it  in 
their  thoughts  how  to  meet  with  accommoda- 
tions by  the  way,  than  how  to  get  thither.  Every 
one  knows  the  story  of  the  great  lady*  who,  at 
the  same  time,  was  building  castles  in  the  air 
for  their  reception.  I always  leave  sueh  trite 
quotations  to  my  reader’s  private  recolleetion. 
For  which  reason,  also,  I shall  forbear  extract- 
ing out  of  authors  several  instances  of  particu- 
lar persons  who  have  arrived  at  some  perfection 
in  this  art,  and  exhibited  specimens  of  it  before 


* The  duchess  of  Newcastle  objected  to  bishop  Wil- 
kins, the  want  of  baiting  places  in  the  way  to  his  new 
world ; the  bishop  expressed  his  surprise  that  this  ob- 
jection should  be  made  by  a lady  who  had  been  all  her 
i life  employed  in  building  castles  in  the  air. 


156 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  113. 


mnliitudes  of  beholders.  Instead  of  this,  I shall 
present  my  reader  with  the  following  letter 
from  an  artist,  who  is  now  taken  up  with  this 
invention,  and  conceals  his  true  name  under 
that  of  Daedalus. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — Knowing  that  you  are  a 
great  encourager  of  ingenuity,  I think  fit  to  ac- 
quaint you,  that  I have  made  a considerable 
progress  in  the  art  of  dying.  I flutter  about  my 
room  two  or  three  hours  in  a morning,  and  when 
my  wings  are  on,  can  go  above  a hundred  yards 
at  a hop,  step,  and  jump.  I can  fly  already  as  well 
as  a turkey-cock,  and  improve  every  day.  If  I 
proceed  as  I have  begun,  I intend  to  give  the 
world  a proof  of  my  proficiency  in  this  art. 
Upon  the  next  public  thanksgiving  day  it  is  my 
design  to  sit  astride  the  dragon  upon  Bow  stee- 
ple, from  whence,  after  the  first  discharge  of  the 
Tower  guns,  I intend  to  mount  into  the  air,  fly 
over  Fleet-street,  and  pitch  upon  the  May-pole 
in  the  Strand.  From  thence,  by  a gradual  de- 
scent, I shall  make  the  best  of  my  way  for  St. 
Jatnes’s-park,  and  light  upon  the  ground  near 
Rosamond’s-pond.  This  I doubt  not  will  con- 
vince the  world  that  I am  no  pretender  ; but 
before  I set  out,  I shall  desire  to  have  a patent 
for  making  of  wings,  and  that  none  shall  pre- 
sume to  fly,  under  pain  of  death,  with  wings  of 
any  other  man’s  making.  I intend  to  work  for 
the  court  myself,  and  will  have  journeymen  un- 
der me  to  furnish  the  rest  of  the  nation.  I like- 
wise desire  tha.t  I may  have  the  sole  teaching 
of  persons  of  quality,  in  which  I shall  spare 
neither  time  nor  pains  until  I have  made  them 
as  expert  as  myself.  I will  fly  with  the  women 
upon  my  back  for  the  first  fortnight.  I shall 
appear  at  the  next  masquerade  dressed  up  in  my 
feathers  and  plumage  like  an  Indian  prince, 
that  the  quality  may  see  how  pretty  they  will 
look  in  their  travelling  habits.  You  know,  sir, 
there  is  an  unaccountable  prejudice  to  projectors 
of  all  kinds,  for  which  reason  when  I talk  of 
practising  to  fly,  silly  people  think  me  an  owl 
for  my  pains ; but,  sir,  you  know  better  things. 
I need  not  enumerate  to  you  the  benefits  which 
will  accrue  to  the  public  from  this  invention  ; 
as  how  the  roads  of  England  wdll  be  saved  when 
we  travel  thi'ough  these  new  highways,  and  how 
all  family  accounts  will  be  lessened  in  the  arti- 
cle of  coaches  and  horses.  I need  not  mention 
posts  and  packet-boats,  with  many  other  conve- 
niences of  life,  which  will  be  supplied  this  way. 
In  short,  sir,  when  mankind  are  in  possession 
of  this  art,  they  will  be  able  to  do  more  business 
in  threescore  and  ten  years,  than  they  could  do 
in  a thousand  by  the  methods  now  in  use.  I 
therefore  recommend  myself  and  art  to  your 
patronage,  and  am  your  most  humble  servant.’ 

I have  fully  considered  the  project  of  these 
our  modern  Daedalists,  and  am  resolved  so  far 
to  discourage  it,  as  to  prevent  any  person  from 
flying  in  my  time.  It  would  fill  the  world  with 
innumerable  immoralities,  and  give  such  occa- 
sions for  intrigues  as  people  cannot  meet  with 
who  have  nothing  but  legs  to  carry  them.  You 
should  have  a couple  of  lovers  make  a midnight 
assignation  upon  the  top  of  tlie  monument,  and 
see  the  cupola  of  St.  Paul’s  covered  with  both 


sexes  like  the  outside  of  a pigeon-house.  No- 
thing would  be  more  frequent  than  to  see  a beau 
flying  in  at  a garret  window,  or  a gallant  giving 
chace  to  his  mistress,  like  a hawk  after  a lark. 
There  would  be  no  walking  in  a shady  wood 
without  springing  a covey  of  toasts.  The  poor 
husband  could  not  dream  what  was  doing  over 
his  head.  If  he  were  jealous,  indeed,  he  might 
clip  his  wife’s  wings,  Wt  what  would  this  avail 
when  there  were  flocks  of  whore-masters  per- 
petually hovering  over  his  house  ? What  con- 
cern would  the  lather  of  a family  be  in  all  the 
time  his  daughter  was  upon  the  wing  7 Every 
heiress  must  have  an  old  woman  flying  at  her 
heels.  In  short,  the  whole  air  would  be  full  of 
this  kind  of  gihier,  as  the  French  call  it.  I do 
allow,  with  my  correspondent,  that  there  would 
be  much  more  business  done  than  there  is  at 
present.  However,  should  he  apply  for  such  a 
patent  as  he  speaks  of,  I question  not  but  there 
would  be  more  petitions  out  of  the  city  against 
it,  than  ever  yet  appeared  against  any  other  mo- 
nopoly whatsoever.  Every  tradesman  that  can- 
not keep  his  wife  a coach,  could  keep  her  a pair 
of  wings,  and  there  is  no  doubt  but  she  v,’ould 
be  every  morning  and  evening  taking  the  air 
with  them. 

I have  here  only  considered  the  ill  conse- 
quences of  this  invention  in  the  influence  it 
would  have  on  love  affairs.  I have  many  more 
objections  to  make  on  other  accounts  ; but  these 
I shall  defer  publishing  until  I see  my  friend 
astride  the  dragon.  O’ 


No.  113.]  Tuesday^  July  21,  1713. 

Amphora  ccepit 

Institui,  currente  rota,  cur  urceus  exit  ? 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  21. 

When  you  begin  with  so  much  pomp  and  show, 
Why  is  the  end  so  little  and  so  low  ? 

Roscommon. 

I LAST  night  received  a letter  from  an  honest 
citizen,  who  it  seems  is  in  his  honey-moon.  It 
is  written  by  a plain  man  on  a plain  subject, 
but  has  an  air  of  good  sense  and  natural  honesty 
in  it,  which  may  perhaps  please  the  public  as 
much  as  myself.  I shall  not  therefore  scruple 
the  giving  it  a place  in  my  paper,  which  is  de- 
signed for  common  use,  and  for  the  benefit  of 
the  poor  as  well  as  rich. 

‘ Cheapside,  July  18. 

‘ Good  Mr.  Ironside, — I have  lately  married  a 
very  pretty  body,  who  being  something  younger 
and  richer  than  myself,  I was  advised  to  go  a 
wooing  to  her  in  a finer  suit  of  clothes  than  ever 
I wore  in  my  life  ; for  I love  to  dress  plain,  and 
suitable  to  a man  of  my  rank.  However,  I gain- 
ed her  heart  by  it.  Upon  the  wedding  day  I put 
myself,  according  to  custom,  in  another  suit, 
fire-new,  with  silver  buttons  to  it.  I am  so  out 
of  countenance  among  my  neighbours  up>on  be- 
ing so  fine,  that  I heartily  wish  my  clothes  well 
worn  out.  I fancy  every  body  observes  me  as 
I walk  the  street,  and  long  to  be  in  my  old  plain 
gear  again.  Besides,  forsooth,  they  have  put 
me  in  a silk  night-gown  and  a gaudy  fool’s  cap. 


No.  114.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


157 


and  make  me  now  and  then  stand  in  the  win- 
dow with  it.  I am  ashamed  to  be  dandled  thus, 
and  cannot  look  in  the  glass  without  blushing 
to  see  myself  turned  into  such  a pretty  little 
master.  They  tell  me  I must  appear  in  my 
wedding-suit  for  the  first  month  at  least ; after 
which  I am  resolved  to  come  again  to  my  every 
day’s  clothes,  for  at  present  every  day  is  Sunday 
with  me.  Now,  in  my  mind,  Mr.  Ironside,  this 
is  the  wrongest  way  of  proceeding  in  the  world. 
When  a man’s  person  is  new  and  unaccustomed 
to  a young  body,  he  does  not  want  any  thing 
else  to  set  him  off.  The  novelty  of  the  lover  has 
more  charms  than  a wedding-suit.  I should 
think,  therefore,  that  a man  should  keep  his 
finery  for  the  latter  seasons  of  marriage,  and  not 
begin  to  dress  until  the  honey-moon  is  over.  I 
have  observed  at  a lord  mayor’s  feast  that  the 
sweet-meats  do  not  make  their  appearance  until 
people  are  cloyed  with  beef  and  rnutton,  and  be- 
gin to  lose  their  stomachs.  But  instead  of  this, 
we  serve  up  delicacies  to  our  guests,  when  their 
appetites  are  keen,  and  coarse  diet  when  their 
bellies  are  full.  As  bad  as  I hate  my  silver- 
buttoned  coat  and  silk  night-gown,  I am  afraid 
of  leaving  them  off,  not  knowing  whether  my 
wife  will  not  repent  of  her  marriage  when  she 
sees  what  a plain  man  she  has  to  her  husband. 
Pray,  Mr.  Ironside,  write  something  to  prepare 
her  for  it,  and  let  me  know  whether  you  think 
she  can  ever  love  me  in  a hair  button.  I am,  &c. 

‘ P.  S.  I forgot  to  tell  you  of  my  wliite  gloves, 
which  they  say  too,  I must  wear  all  the  first 
month.’ 

My  correspondent’s  observations  are  very 
just,  and  may  be  useful  in  low  life  ; but  to  turn 
them  to  the  advantage  of  people  in  higher  sta- 
tions, I shall  raise  the  moral,  and  observe  some- 
thing parallel  to  the  wooing  and  wedding-suit, 
in  the  behaviour  of  persons  of  figure.  After 
long  experience  in  the  world,  and  reflections 
upon  mankind,  I find  one  particular  occasion  of 
unhappy  marriages,  which,  though  very  com- 
mon, is  not  very  much  attended  to.  What  I 
mean  is  this : Every  man  in  the  time  of  court- 
ship, and  in  the  first  entrance  of  marriage,  puts 
on  a behaviour  like  my  correspondent’s  holiday 
suit,  which  is  to  last  no  longer  than  until  he  is 
settled  in  the  possession  of  his  mistress.  He 
resigns  his  inclinations  and  understanding  to 
her  humour  and  opinion.  He  neither  loves  nor 
hates,  nor  talks,  nor  thinks,  in  contradiction  to 
her.  He  is  controlled  by  a nod,  mortified  by  a 
frown,  and  transported  by  a smile.  The  poor 
young  lady  falls  in  love  with  this  supple  crea- 
ture, and  expects  of  him  the  same  behaviour  for 
life.  In  a little  time  she  finds  that  he  has  a will 
of  his  own,  that  he  pretends  to  dislike  what  she 
approves,  and  that  instead  of  treating  her  like  a 
goddess,  he  uses  her  like  a woman.  What  still 
makes  the  misfortune  worse,  we  find  the  most 
abject  flatterers  degenerate  into  the  greatest  ty- 
rants. This  naturally  fills  the  spouse  with  sul- 
lenness and  discontent,  spleen  and  vapour, 
which,  with  a little  discreet  management,  make 
a very  comfortable  marriage.  I very  much  ap- 
prove of  my  friend  Tom  Truelove  in  this  par- 
ticular. Tom  made  love  to  a woman  of  sense, 
and  always  treated  her  as  such  during  the  whole 


time  of  courtship.  His  natural  temper  and  good 
breeding  hindered  him  from  doing  any  thing 
disagreeable,  as  his  sincerity  and  frankness  of 
behaviour  made  him  converse  with  her,  before 
marriage,  in  the  same  manner  he  intended  to 
continue  to  do  afterwards.  Tom  would  often 
tell  her,  ‘ Madam,  you  see  what  a sort  of  man  I 
am.  If  you  will  take  me  with  all  my  faults 
about  me,  I promise  to  mend  rather  than  grow 
worse.’  I remember  Tom  was  once  hinting  his 
dislike  of  some  little  trifle  his  mistress  had  said 
or  done.  Upon  which  she  asked  him,  how  he 
would  talk  to  her  after  marriage,  if  he  talked  at 
this  rate  before  ? ‘ No,  madam,’  says  Tom,  ‘ I 

mention  this  now  because  you  are  at  your  own 
disposal ; were  you  at  mine  I should  be  too  ge- 
nerous to  do  it.’  In  short,  Tom  succeeded,  and 
has  ever  since  been  better  than  his  word.  The 
lady  has  been  disappointed  on  the  right  side, 
and  has  found  nothing  more  disagreeable  in  the 
husband  than  she  discovered  in  the  lover.  O" 


No.  114.]  Wednesday,  July  22,  1713. 

Alveos  accipite,  et  ceris  opus  infundite  : 

Fuci  recusant,  apibus  conditio  placet. 

Phadr.  Lib.  3.  Fab.  xiii.  9. 

Take  the  hives,  and  empty  your  work  into  the  combs ; 

The  drones  refuse,  the  bees  accept  the  proposal. 

I THINK  myself  obliged  to  acquaint  the  public 
that  the  lion’s  head,  of  which  I advertised  them 
about  a fortnight  ago,  is  now  erected  at  Button’s 
coffee-house  in  Russel-street,  Covent-garden, 
where  it  opens  its  mouth  at  all  hours  for  the  re- 
ception of  such  intelligence  as  shall  be  thrown 
into  it.  It  is  reckoned  an  excellent  piece  of 
workmanship,  and  was  designed  by  a great 
hand  in  imitation  of  the  antique  Egyptian  lion, 
the  face  of  it  being  compounded  out  of  that  of 
a lion  and  a wizard.  The  features  are  strong 
and  well  furrowed.  The  whiskers  are  admired 
by  all  that  have  seen  them.  It  is  planted  on 
the  western  side  of  the  coffee-house,  holding  its 
paws  under  the  chin  upon  a box,  which  contains 
every  thing  that  he  swallows.  He  is  indeed  a 
proper  emblem  of  knowledge  and  action,  being 
all  head  and  paws.  I need  not  acquaint  my 
readers,  that  my  lion,  like  a moth,  or  book- 
worm, feeds  upon  nothing  but  paper,  and  shall 
only  beg  of  them  to  diet  him  with  wholesome 
and  substantial  food.  I must,  therefore,  desire, 
that  they  will  not  gorge  him  either  with  non- 
sense or  obscenity  ; and  must  likewise  insist, 
that  his  mouth  be  not  defiled  with  scandal,  for 
I would  not  make  use  of  him  to  revile  the  hu- 
man species,  and  satirise  those  who  are  his  bet- 
ters. I shall  not  suffer  him  to  worry  any  man’s 
reputation,  nor  indeed  fall  on  any  person  what- 
soever, such  only  excepted  as  disgrace  the  name 
of  this  generous  animal,  and  under  the  title  of 
lions  contrive  the  ruin  of  their  fellow-subjects. 
I must  desire,  likewise,  that  intriguers  will  not 
make  a pimp  of  my  lion,  and  by  his  means  con- 
vey their  thoughts  to  one  another.  Those  who 
are  read  in  the  history  of  the  popes  observe, 
that  the  Leos  have  been  the  best,  and  the  Inno- 
cents the  worst  of  that  species,  and  I hope  that 
I shall  not  be  thought  to  derogate  from  my 
14 


158 


'HE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  115. 


lion’s  character,  by  representing  him  as  such  a 
peaceable,  good-natured,  well-designing  beast. 

I intend  to  publisji  once  every  week,  ‘ the 
roarings  of  the  lion,’  and  hope  to  make  him 
roar  so  loud  as  to  be  heard  over  all  the  British 
nation. 

If  my  correspondents  will  do  their  parts  in 
prompting  him,  and  supplying  him  with  suit- 
able provision,  I question  not  but  the  lion’s  head 
will  be  reckoned  the  best  head  in  England. 

There  is  a notion  generally  received  in  the 
world,  that  a lion  is  a dangerous  creature  to  all 
women  who  are  not  virgins : which  may  have 
given  occasion  to  a foolish  report,  that  my  lion’s 
jaws  are  so  contrived,  as  to  snap  the  hands  of 
any  of  the  female  sex,  who  are  not  thus  quali- 
fied to  approach  it  with  safety.  I shall  not 
spend  much  time  in  exposing  the  falsity  of  this 
report,  which  I believe  will  not  weigh  any  thing 
with  women  of  sense : I shall  only  say,  that 
therfi  is  not  one  of  the  sex  in  all  the  neighbour- 
hooa  of  Covent-garden,  who  may  not  put  her 
hand  in  his  mouth  with  the  same  security  as  if 
she  were  a vestal.  However,  that  the  ladies 
may  not  be  deterred  from  corresponding  with 
me  by  this  method,  I must  acquaint  them  that 
the  coffee-man  has  a little  daughter  of  about 
fouryears  old,  who  has  been  virtuously  educated, 
and  will  lend  her  hand  upon  this  occasion  to 
any  lady  that  shall  desire  it  of  her. 

In  the  mean  time  I must  further  acquaint  my 
fair  readers,  that  I have  thoughts  of  making  a 
further  provision  for  them  at  my  ingenious 
friend  Mr.  xMotteux’s,  or  at  Corticelli’s,  or  some 
other  place  frequented  by  the  wits  and  beauties 
of  the  sex.  As  I have  here  a lion’s  head  for 
the  men,  I shall  there  erect  a unicorn’s  head 
for  the  ladies,  and  will  so  contrive  it,  that  they 
may  put  in  their  intelligence  at  the  top  of  the 
horn,  which  shall  convey  it  into  a little  recepta- 
cle at  the  bottom  prepared  for  that  purpose. 
Out  of  these  two  magazines  I shall  supply  the 
town  from  time  to  time,  with  what  may  tend  to 
their  edification,  and  at  the  same  time,  carry 
on  an  epistolary  correspondence  between  the 
two  heads,  not  a little  beneficial  both  to  the 
public  and  to  myself.  As  both  these  moi^sters 
will  be  very  insatiable,  and  devour  great  quan- 
tities of  paper,  there  will  no  small  use  redound 
from  them  to  that  manufacture  in  particular. 

The  following  letter  having  been  left  with 
the  keeper  of  the  lion,  with  a request  from  the 
writer  that  it  may  be  the  first  morsel  which  is 
put  into  his  mouth,  I shall  communicate  it  to 
the  public  as  it  came  to  my  hand,  without  ex- 
amining whether  it  be  proper  nourishment,  as 
I intend  to  do  for  the  future. 

‘ Mr.  Guardian, — Y our  predecessor,  the  Spec- 
tator, endeavoured,  but  in  vain,  to  improve  the 
charms  of  the  fair  sex,  b}'^  exposing  their  dress 
whenever  it  launched  into  extremities.  Among 
the  rest,  the  great  petticoat  came  under  his  con- 
sideration, but  in  contradiction  to  whatever  he 
has  said,  they  still  resolutely  persist  in  this 
fashion.  The  form  of  their  bottom  is  not,  I 
confess,  altogether  the  same ; for  whereas  be- 
fore  it  was  of  an  orbicular  make,  they  now  look 
as  if  they  were  pressed,  so  that  they  seem  to  de- 
ny access  to  any  part  but  the  middle.  Many 


are  the  inconveniences  that  accVue  to  her  ma- 
jesty’s loving  subjects  from  the  said  petticoats, 
as  hurting  men’s  shins,  sweeping  down  the 
wares  of  industrious  females  in  the  streets,  &c. 
I saw  a young  lady  fall  dowm  the  other  day  ; 
and  believe  me,  sir,  she  very  much  resembled 
an  overturned  bell  without  a clapper.  Many 
other  disasters  I could  tell  you  of,  that  befall 
themselves  as  well  as  others,  by  means  of  this 
unwieldy  garment.  I wish,  Mr,  Guardian,  you 
would  join  with  me  in  showing  your  dislike  of 
such  a monstrous  fashion,  and  I hope  when  the 
ladies  see  it  is  the  opinion  of  tw’o  of  the  wisest 
men  in  England,  they  will  be  convinced  of  their 
folly. — I am,  sir,  your  daily  reader  and  admirer, 
‘TOM  PLAIN.’  [Cr 


No.  115.]  Thursday,  July  23,  1713. 

Ingenium  par  materis Juv.  Sat.  i.  151. 

A genius  equal  to  the  subject. 

When  I read  rules  of  criticism  I immediately 
inquire  after  the  works  of  the  author  w’ho  has 
written  them,  and  by  that  means  discover  what 
it  is  he  likes  in  a composition  ; for  there  is  no 
question  but  every  man  aims  at  least,  at  what 
he  thinks  beautiful  in  others.  If  I find  by  his 
own  manner  of  writing  that  he  is  heavy  and 
tasteless,  I throw  aside  his  criticisms  with  a 
secret  indignation,  to  see  a man  without  genius 
or  politeness  dictating  to  the  world  on  subjects 
which  I find  are  above  ins  reach. 

If  the  critic  has  published  nothing  but  rules 
and  observations  in  criticism,  I then  eonsider 
whether  there  be  a propriety  and  elegance  in 
his  thoughts  and  words,  clearness  and  delicacy 
in  his  remarks,  wit  and  good  breeding  in  his 
raillery ; but  if  in  the  place  of  all  these,  I find 
nothing  bat  dogmatical  stupidity,  I must  beg 
such  a writer’s  pardon  if  I have  no  manner  of 
deference  for  his  judgment,  and  refuse  to  con- 
form  myself  to  his  taste. 

‘ So  Macer  and  Mundungus  school  the  time.s. 

And  write  in  rugged  prose  the  softer  rules  of  rhymes, 

Well  do  they  play  the  careful  critic's  part, 

Instructing  doubly  by  their  matchless  art : 

Rules  for  good  verse  they  first  with  pains  indite. 

Then  show  us  what  are  bad  by  what  they  write. 

Mr.  Congreve  to  Sir  R.  Temple. 

The  greatest  critics  among  the  ancients  are 
those  who  have  the  most  excelled  in  all  other 
kinds  of  composition,  and  have  shown  the 
height  of  good  writing  even  in  the  precepts 
which  they  have  given  for  it.  * 

Among  the  moderns,  likewise,  no  eritic  has  I 
ever  pleased,  or  been  looked  upon  as  authentic 
who  did  not  show  by  his  practice  that  he  was  a 
master  of  the  theory.  I have  now  one  before 
me,  who,  after  having  given  many  proofs  of 
his  performances  both  in  poetry  and  prose, 
obliged  the  wmrld  \vith  several  critical  works. 

The  author  I mean  is  Strada.  His  prolusion  on 
the  style  of  the  most  famous  among  the  ancient 
Latin  poets  who  are  extant,  and  have  written 
in  epic  verse,  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining, 
as  well  as  the  most  just  pieces  of  criticism  that 
I have  ever  read : I shall  make  the  plan  of  it 
the  subject  of  this  day’s  paper. 


No.  116.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


159 


It  is  commonly  known  that  pope  Leo  the 
Tenth  was  a great  patron  of  learning,  and 
used  to  be  present  at  the  performances,  conver- 
sations, and  disputes,  of  all  the  most  polite  wri- 
ters  of  his  time.  Upon  this  bottom,  Strada 
founds  the  following  narrative  : When  this  pope 
was  at  his  villa,  that  stood  upon  an  eminence 
on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  the  poets  contrived 
the  following  pageant  or  machine  for  his  enter- 
tainment: They  made  a huge  floating  moun- 
tain, that  was  split  at  the  top,  in  imitation  of 
Parnassus.  There  were  several  marks  on  it, 
that  distinguished  it  for  the  habitation  of  heroic 
poets.  Of  all  the  muses  Calliope  only  made 
her  appearance.  It  was  covered  up  and  down 
with  groves  of  laurel.  Pegasus  appeared  hang- 
ing otf  the  side  of  a rock,  with  a fountain  run- 
ning from  his  heel.  This  floating  Parnassus 
fell  down  the  river  to  the  sound  of  trumpets, 
and  in  a kind  of  epic  measure,  for  it  was  rowed 
forward  by  six  huge  wheels,  three  on  each  side, 
that  by  their  constant  motion  carried  on  the 
machine,  until  it  arrived  before  the  pope’s  villa. 

The  representatives  of  the  ancient  poets  were 
disposed  in  stations  suitable  to  their  respeetive 
characters.  Statius  was  posted  on  the  highest 
of  the  two  suintnits,  which  was  fashioned  in 
the  form  of  a precipice,  and  hung  over  the  rest 
of  the  mountain  in  a dreadful  manner,  so  that 
people  regarded  him  with  the  same  terror  and 
curiosity  as  they  look  upon  a daring  rope-dancer 
whom  they  expect  to  fall  every  moment. 

Claudian  was  seated  on  the  other  summit, 
whieh  was  lower,  and  at  the  same  time  more 
smooth  and  even  than  the  former.  It  was  ob- 
served likewise  to  be  more  barren, and  to  produce, 
on  some  spots  of  it,  plants  that  are  unknown  to 
Italy,  and  such  as  the  gardeners  call  exotics. 

Lucretius  was  very  busy  about  the  roots  of 
the  mountains,  being  wholly  intent  upon  the 
motion  and  management  of  the  machine  which 
was  under  his  conduct,  and  was  indeed  of  his 
invention.  He  was  sometimes  so  engaged 
among  the  wheels,  and  covered  with  machinery, 
that  not  above  half  the  poet  appeared  to  the 
spectators,  though  at  other  times,  by  the  work- 
ing of  the  engines,  he  was  raised  up,  and  be- 
came as  conspicuous  as  any  of  the  brotherhood. 

Ovid  did  not  settle  in  any  partieular  place, 
but  ranged  over  ail  Parnassus  with  great  nim- 
bleness and  activity.  But  as  he  did  not  much 
care  for  the  toil  and  pains  that  were  requisite  to 
climb  the  upper  part  of  the  hill,  he  was  gene- 
rally roving  about  the  bottom  of  it. 

But  there  was  none  who  was  placed  in  a more 
eminent  station,  and  had  a greater  prospect  un- 
der him  than  Lucan.  He  vaulted  upon  Pega- 
sus with  all  the  heat  and  intrepidity  of  youth, 
and  seemed  desirous  of  mounting  into  the  clouds 
upon  the  back  of  him.  But  as  the  hinder  feet 
of  the  horse  stuck  to  the  mountain  while  the 
body  reared  up  in  the  air,  the  poet  with  great 
difficulty  kept  himself  from  sliding  off  his  back, 
insomuch  that  the  people  often  gave  him  for 
gone,  and  cried  out  every  now  and  then  that  he 
was  tumbling. 

Virgil,  with  great  modesty  in  his  looks,  was 
seated  by  Calliope,  in  the  midst  of  a plantation 
of  laurels  which  grew  thick  about  him,  and  al- 
most covered  him  with  their  shade.  He  would 


not  perhaps  have  been  seen  in  this  retirement, 
but  that  it  was  impossible  to  look  upon  Calliope, 
without  seeing  Virgil  at  the  same  time. 

This  poetical  masquerade  was  no  sooner  ar- 
rived before  the  pope’s  villa,  but  they  received 
an  invitation  to  land,  which  they  did  accord- 
ingly. The  hall  prepared  for  their  reception 
was  filled  with  an  audience  of  the  greatest  emi- 
nence for  quality  and  politeness.  The  poets 
took  their  places,  and  repeated  each  of  them  a 
poem,  written  in  the  style  and  spirit  of  those 
immortal  authors  whom  they  represented.  The 
subject  of  these  several  poems,  with  the  judg- 
ment passed  upon  each  of  them,  may  be  an 
agreeable  entertainment  for  another  day’s  paper. 


No.  116.]  Friday,  July  24,  1713. 

Ridiculum  acri 

Fortius  et  melius Hor.'Lib.l  Sat.  x.’ 14, 

A jest  in  scorn  points  out,  and  hits  the  thing 

More  home,  than  the  morosest  satire’s  sting. 

There  are  many  little  enormities  in  the 
world  which  our  preachers  would  be  very  glad 
to  see  removed  ; but  at  the  same  time  dare  not 
meddle  with  them,  for  fear  of  betraying  the 
dignity  of  the  pulpit.  Should  they  recommend 
the  tucker  in  a pathetic  discourse,  their  au- 
diences would  be  apt  to  laugh  out.  I knew  a 
parish,  where  the  top  woman  of  it  used  always 
to  appear  with  a patch  upon  some  part  of  her 
forehead.  The  good  man  of  the  place  preached 
at  it  with  great  zeal  for  almost  a twelvemonth  ; 
but  instead  of  fetching  out  the  spot  which  he 
perpetually  aimed  at,  he  only  got  the  name  of 
Parson  Patch  for  his  pains.  Another  is  to  this 
day  called  by  the  name  of  Doctor  Topknot,  for 
reasons  of  the  same  nature.  I remember  the 
clergy  during  the  time  of  Cromwell’s  usurpa- 
tion, were  very  much  taken  up  in  reforming  the 
female  world,  and  showing  the  vanity  of  those 
outward  ornaments  in  which  the  sex  so  much 
delights.  I have  heard  a whole  sermon  against 
a whitewash,  and  have  known  a coloured  riband 
made  the  mark  of  the  unconverted.  The  clergy 
of  the  present  age  are  not  transported  with 
these  indiscreet  fervours,  as  knowing  that  it  is 
hard  for  a reformer  to  avoid  ridicule,  when  he  is 
severe  upon  subjects  which  are  rather  apt  to 
produce  mirth  than  seriousness.  For  this  reason 
I look  upon  myself  to  be  of  great  use  to  these 
good  men.  While  they  are  employed  in  extir- 
pating mortal  sins,  and  crimes  of  a higher  na- 
ture, I should  be  glad  to  rally  the  world  out  of 
indecencies  and  venial  transgressions.  While 
the  doctor  is  curing  distempers  that  have  the 
appearance  of  danger  or  death  in  them,  the 
merry-andrew  has  his  separate  packet  for  the 
megrims  and  tooth-ache. 

Thus  much  I thought  fit  to  premise  before  I 
resume  the  subject  which  I have  already  han- 
dled. I mean  the  naked  bosoms  of  our  British 
ladies.  I hope  they  will  not  take  it  ill  of  me, 
if  I still  beg  that  they  will  be  covered.  I shall 
here  present  them  with  a letter  on  that  particu- 
lar, as  it  was  yesterday  conveyed  to  me  through 
the  lion’s  mouth.  It  comes  from  a quaker,  and 
is  as  follows : 


IGO 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


‘ Nestor  Ironside, — Our  friends  like  thee. 
We  rejoice  to  find  thou  beginnest  to  have  a 
glimmering  of  the  light  in  thee.  We  shall  pray 
for  thee,  that  thou  mayest  be  more  and  more 
enlightened.  Thou  givest  good  advice  to  the 
women  of  this  world  to  clothe  themselves  like 
unto  our  friends,  and  not  to  expose  their  fleshly 
temptations,  for  it  is  against  the  record.  Thy 
lion  is  a good  lion  ; he  roareth  loud,  and  is 
heard  a great  way,  even  unto  the  sink  of  Baby- 
lon ! for  the  scarlet  whore  is  governed  by  the 
voice  of  thy  lion.  Look  on  his  order. 

“ Rome,  July  8,  1713.  A placard  is  published 
here,  forbidding  women  of  whatsoever  quality 
to  go  with  naked  breasts  ; and  the  priests  are 
ordered  not  to  admit  the  transgressors  of  this 
law  to  confession,  nor  to  communion,  neither 
are  they  to  enter  the  cathedrals,  under  severe 
penalties.” 

‘ These  lines  are  faithfully  copied  from  the 
nightly  paper,  with  this  title  written  over  it, 
“ The  Evening  Post,  from  Saturday,  July  the 
eighteenth,  to  Tuesday,  July  the  twenty-first.” 

‘ Seeing  thy  lion  is  obeyed  at  this  distance, 
we  hope  the  foolish  women  in  thy  own  country 
will  listen  to  thy  admonitions.  Otherwise  thou 
art  desired  to  make  him  still  roar  till  all  the 
beasts  of  the  forest  shall  tremble.  I must  again 
repeat  unto  thee,  friend  Nestor,  the  whole  bro- 
therhood have  great  hopes  of  thee,  and  expect 
to  see  thee  so  inspired  with  the  light,  as  thou 
mayest  speedily  become  a great  preacher  of  the 
word.  I wish  it  heartily.  Thine,  in  every 
thing  that  is  praise-worthy, 

‘TOM  TREMBLE. 

* Tom’s  coffee-house  in  Birchin-Jane,  the  23d  day  of  the 
month  called  July.’ 

It  happens  very  oddly  that  the  pope  and  I 
should  have  the  same  thoughts  much  about  the 
same  time.  My  enemies  will  be  apt  to  say,  that 
we  hold  a correspondence  together,  and  act  by 
concert  in  this  matter.  Let  that  be  as  it  will, 
I shall  not  be  ashamed  to  join  with  his  holiness 
in  those  particulars  which  are  indifferent  be- 
tween us,  especially  when  it  is  for  the  reforma- 
tion  of  the  finer  half  of  mankind.  We  are  both 
of  us  about  the  same  age,  and  consider  this 
fashion  in  the  same  view.  I hope  that  it  will 
not  be  able  to  resist  his  bull  and  my  lion.  I am 
only  afraid  that  our  ladies  will  take  occasion 
from  hence  to  show  their  zeal  for  the  protestant 
religion,  and  pretend  to  expose  their  naked  bo- 
soms only  in  opposition  to  popery.  ICr’ 


No.  117.]  Saturday,  July  25,  1713. 

Cura  pii  Diis  sunt.  Ovid.  Met.  Lib.  viii.  724. 

Tlie  good  are  Heaven’s  peculiar  care. 

Looking  over  the  late  edition  of  monsieur 
Boileau’s  works,  I was  very  much  pleased  with 
the  article  which  he  has  added  to  his  notes  on 
the  translation  of  Longinus.  He  there  tells  us, 
that  the  sublime  in  writing  rises  either  from 
the  nobleness  of  the  thought,  the  magnificence 
of  the  words,  or  the  harmonious  and  lively  turn 
of  the  phrase,  and  that  the  perfect  sublime 
arises  from  all  these  three  in  conjunction  to- 


[No.  117- 

gether.  He  prouuces  an  instance  of  this  perfect 
sublime  in  four  verses  from  the  Athalia  of  mon- 
sieur Racine.  When  Abner,  one  of  the  chief 
officers  of  the  court,  represents  to  Joad  the  high- 
priest,  that  the  queen  was  incensed  against  him, 
the  high-priest,  not  in  the  least  terrified  at  the 
news,  returns  this  answer  : 

‘ Celui  qui  met  un  frein  a la  fureur  des  dots, 

Scait  aussi  des  medians  arreter  les  complots. 

Soumis  avec  respect  a sa  volante  sainte. 

Jc  crains  Dieu,  cher  Abner,  et  n’ai  point  d'autre  craint.’ 

‘ He  who  ruleth  the  raging  of  the  sea,  knows 
also  how  to  check  the  designs  of  the  ungodly. 
I submit  myself  with  reverence  to  his  holy  will. 
O Abner,  I fear  my  God,  and  I fear  none  but 
him.’  Such  a thought  gives  no  less  a sublimity 
to  human  nature,  than  it  does  to  good  writing. 
This  religious  fear,  when  it  is  produced  by  just 
apprehensions  of  a divine  power,  naturally  over- 
looks all  human  greatness  that  stands  in  com- 
petition with  it,  and  extinguishes  every  other 
terror  that  can  settle  itself  in  the  heart  of  man  ; 
it  lessens  and  contracts  the  figure  of  the  most 
exalted  person ; it  disarms  the  tyrant  and  exe- 
cutioner ; and  represents  to  our  minds  the  most 
enraged  and  the  most  powerful  as  altogether 
harmless  and  impotent. 

There  is  no  true  fortitude  w’hich  is  not  found- 
ed upon  this  fear,  as  there  is  no  other  principle 
of  so  settled  and  fixed  a nature.  Courage  that 
grows  from  constitution,  very  often  forsakes  a 
man  when  he  has  occasion  for  it ; and  when  it 
is  only  a kind  of  instinct  in  the  soul,  breaks  out 
on  all  occasions  without  judgment  or  discretion. 
That  courage  which  proceeds  from  the  sense  of 
our  duty,  and  from  the  fear  of  offending  him 
that  made  us,  acts  always  in  a uniform  manner, 
and  according  to  the  dictates  of  right  reason. 

What  can  the  man  fear,  who  takes  care  in 
all  his  actions  to  please  a being  that  is  omnipo- 
tent ? A being  who  is  able  to  crush  all  his  ad- 
versaries ? A being  that  can  divert  any  mis- 
fortune from  befalling  him,  or  turn  any  such 
misfortune  to  his  advantage  ? The  person  who 
lives  with  this  constant  and  habitual  regard  to 
the  great  superintendent  of  the  world,  is  indeed 
sure  that  no  real  evil  can  come  into  his  lot. 

Blessings  may  appear  under  the  shape  of 
pains,  losses,  and  disappointments  ; but  let  him 
have  patience,  and  he  will  see  them  in  their 
proper  figures.  Dangers  may  threaten  him, 
but  he  may  rest  satisfied  that  they  will  either 
not  reach  him ; or  that,  if  they  do,  they  will  be 
the  instruments  of  good  to  him.  In  short,  he 
may  look  upon  all  crosses  and  accidents,  suffer- 
ings and  afflictions,  as  means  which  are  made 
use  of  to  bring  him  to  happiness.  This  is  even 
the  worst  of  that  man’s  condition  whose  mind 
is  possessed  with  the  habitual  fear  of  w'hich  I 
am  now  speaking.  But  it  very  often  happens, 
that  those  which  appear  evils  in  our  own  eyes, 
appear  also  as  such  to  him  who  has  human 
nature  under  his  care ; in  which  case  they  are 
certainly  averted  from  the  person  who  has  made 
himself  by  this  virtue  an  object  of  divine  favour. 
Histories  are  full  of  instances  of  this  nature, 
where  men  of  virtue  have  had  extraordinary 
escapes  out  of  such  dangers  as  have  enclosed 
them,  and  which  have  seemed  inevitable. 

There  is  no  example  of  this  kind  in  pagan 


No.  118.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


161 


history  which  more  pleases  me,  than  that  which 
is  recorded  in  the  life  of  Tirnoleon.  This  ex- 
traordinary man  was  famous  for  referring  all 
his  successes  to  Providence.  Cornelius  Nepos 
acquaints  us  that  he  had  in  his  house  a private 
chapel,  in  which  he  used  to  pay  his  devotions 
to  the  goddess  who  represented  Providence 
among  the  heathens.  I think  no  man  was  ever 
more  distinguished  by  the  deity  whom  he  blind- 
ly worshipped,  than  the  great  person  I am 
speaking  of^  in  several  occurrences  of  his  life, 
but  particularly  in  the  following  one  which  I 
shall  relate  out  of  Plutarch. 

Three  persons  had  entered  into  a conspirac)'^ 
to  assassinate  Tirnoleon,  as  he  was  offering  up 
his  devotions  in  a certain  temple.  In  order  to 
it,  they  took  (heir  several  stands  in  the  most 
convenient  places  for  their  purpose.  As  they 
were  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  put  their 
design  in  execution,  a stranger  having  observed 
one  of  the  conspirators,  fell  upon  him  and  slew 
him.  Upon  which,  the  other  two,  thinking 
their  plot  had  been  discovered,  threw  them- 
selves at  Timoleon’s  feet,  and  confessed  the 
whole  matter.  This  stranger,  upon  examina- 
tion, was  found  to  have  understood  nothing  of 
the  intended  assassination  ; but  having  several 
years  before  had  a brother  killed  by  the  con- 
spirator, whom  he  here  put  to  death,  and  having 
till  now  sought  in  vain  for  an  opportunity  of 
revenge,  he  chanced  to  meet  the  murderer  in 
the  temple,  who  had  planted  himself  there  for 
the  above-mentioned  purpose.  Plutarch  cannot 
forbear  on  this  occasion,  speaking  with  a kind 
of  rapture  on  the  schemes  of  Providence  ; which, 
in  this  particular,  had  so  contrived  it,  that  the 
stranger  should,  for  so  great  a space  of  time, 
be  debarred  the  means  of  doing  justice  to  his 
brother,  until  by  the  same  blow  that  revenged 
the  death  of  one  innocent  man,  he  preserved 
the  life  of  another. 

For  my  own  part,  I cannot  wonder  that  a 
man  of  Timoleon’s  religion,  should  have  his  in- 
trepidity and  firmness  of  mind;  or  that  he 
should  be  distinguished  by  sueh  a deliverance 
as  I have  here  related.  (CT 


No.  118.]  Monday^  July  27,  1713. 

Largitor  ingeni 

Venter Pers.  Prol.  ver.  10. 

Witty  want.  Dryden. 

I AM  very  well  pleased  to  find  that  my  lion 
has  given  such  universal  content  to  all  that  have 
seen  him.  He  has  had  a greater  number  of 
visitants  than  any  of  his  brotherhood  in  the 
tower.  I this  morning  examined  his  maw, 
where  among  much  other  food  I found  the  fol- 
lowing delicious  morsels. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside^  Esquire. 

‘ Mr.  Guardian, — I am  a daily  peruser  of 
your  papers.  I have  read  over  and  over  your 
discourse  concerning  the  tucker ; as  likewise 
your  paper  of  Thursday  the  sixteenth  instant,  in 
which  you  say  it  is  your  intention  to  keep  a 
watchful  eye  over  every  part  of  the  female  sex, 
and  to  regulate  them  from  head  to  foot.  Now, 


sir,  being  by  profession  a mantua-maker,  who 
am  employed  by  the  most  fashionable  ladies 
about  town,  I am  admitted  to  them  freely  at  all 
hours  ; and  seeing  them  both  drest  and  undrest, 
I think  there  is  no  person  better  qualified  than 
myself  to  serve  you  (if  your  honour  pleases)  in 
the  nature  of  a lioness.  I am  in  the  whole  se- 
cret of  their  fashion ; and  if  you  think  fit  to  en- 
tertain me  in  this  character,  I will  have  a con- 
stant watch  over  them,  and  doubt  not  I shall 
send  you  from  time  to  time  such  private  intel- 
ligence, as  you  will  find  of  use  to  you  in  your 
future  papers. 

‘ Sir,  this  being  a new  proposal,  I hope  you 
will  not  let  me  lose  the  benefit  of  it ; but  that 
you  will  first  hear  me  roar  before  you  treat  with 
any  body  else.  As  a sample  of  my  intended 
services,  I give  you  this  timely  notice  of  an  im- 
provement you  will  shortly  see  in  the  exposing 
of  the  female  chest,  which,  in  defiance  of  your 
gravity,  is  going  to  be  uncovered  yet  more  and 
more  ; so  that,  to  tell  you  truly,  Mr.  Ironside,  I 
am  in  some  fear  lest  my  profession  should  in  a 
little  time  become  wholly  unnecessary.  I must 
here  explain  to  you  a small  covering,  if  I may 
call  it  so,  or  rather  an  ornament  for  the  neck, 
which  you  have  not  yet  taken  notice  of.  This 
consists  of  a narrow  lace,  or  a small  skirt  of  fine 
ruffled  linen,  which  runs  along  the  upper  part 
of  the  stays  before,  and  crosses  the  breasts, 
without  rising  to  the  shoulders  ; and  being,  as 
it  were,  a part  of  the  tucker  yet  kept  in  use,  is 
therefore,  by  a particular  name,  called  the  mo- 
desty-piece. Now  sir,  what  I have  to  commu- 
nicate to  you  at  present  is,  that  at  a late  meet- 
ing of  the  stripping  ladies,  in  which  were  pre- 
sent several  eminent  toasts  and  beauties,  it  was 
resolved  for  the  future  to  lay  the  modesty-piece 
wholly  aside.  It  is  intended  at  the  same  time 
to  lower  the  stays  considerably  before,  and  no- 
thing but  the  unsettled  weather  has  hindered 
this  design  from  being  already  put  in  execution. 
Some  few  indeed  objected  to  this  last  improve, 
ment,  but  were  overruled  by  the  rest,  who  al- 
leged it  was  their  intention,  as  they  ingeniously 
expressed  it,  to  level  their  breast-works  entirely, 
and  to  trust  to  no  defence  but  their  own  virtue. 
I am  sir,  (if  you  please)  your  secret  servant, 

‘ LEON  ILL  A FIGLEAF-’ 

‘ Dear  Sir,— As  by  name,  and  duty  bound,  I 
yesterday  brought  in  a prey  of  paper  for  my  pa- 
tron’s dinner ; but  by  the  forwardness  of  his 
paws,  he  seemed  ready  to  put  it  into  his  own 
mouth,  which  does  not  enough  resemble  its  pro- 
totypes,  whose  throats  are  open  sepulchres.  I 
assure  you.  sir,  unless  he  gapes  wider  he  will 
sooner  he  felt  than  heard.  Witness  my  hand, 

‘ J aCKALL.’ 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esquire. 

‘ Sage  Nestor, — Lions  being  esteemed  by  na 
turalists  the  most  generous  of  beasts,  the  noble 
and  majestic  appearance  they  make  in  poetry, 
wherein  they  so  often  represent  the  hero  him- 
self,  made  me  always  think  that  name  very  ill 
applied  to  a profligate  set  of  men,  at  present  go- 
ing about  seeking  whom  to  devour  ; and  though 
I cannot  but  acquiesce  in  your  account  of  the 
derivation  of  that  title  to  them,  it  is  with  great 
14* 


162 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  119. 


satisfaction  I hear  you  are  about  to  restore  them  ' 
to  their  former  dignity,  by  producing  one  of  that 
species  so  public  spirited,  as  to  roar  for  reforma- 
tion of  manners.  “ I will  roar,”  says  the  clown 
in  Shakspeare,  “ that  it  will  do  any  man’s  heart 
good  to  hear  me ; I will  roar,  that  I will  make 
the  duke  say.  Let  him  roar  again,  let  him  roar 
again.”  Such  success,  and  such  applause,  I do 
not  question  but  your  lion  will  meet  with,  whilst, 
like  that  of  Sampson,  his  strength  shall  bring 
forth  sweetness,  and  his  entrails  abound  with 
honey. 

‘ At  the  same  time  that  I congratulate  with 
the  republic  of  beasts  upon  this  honour  done  to 
their  king,  I must  condole  with  us  poor  mortals, 
who  by  distance  of  place  are  rendered  incapable 
of  paying  our  respects  to  him,  with  the  same 
assiduity  as  those  who  are  ushered  into  his  pre- 
sence by  the  discreet  Mr.  Button.  Upon  this 
account,  Mr.  Ironside,  I am  become  a suitor  to 
you,  to  constitute  an  outriding  lion ; or,  if  you 
please,  a jackall  or  two,  to  receive  and  remit 
our  homage  in  a more  particular  manner  than 
is  hitherto  provided.  As  it  is,  our  tenders  of 
duty  every  now  and  then  miscarry  by  the  way  ; 
at  least  the  natural  self-love  that  makes  us  un- 
willing to  think  any  thing  that  comes  from  us 
worthy  of  contempt,  inclines  us  to  believe  sc. 
Methinks  it  were  likewise  necessary  to  specify, 
by  what  means  a present  from  a fair  hand  may 
reach  his  brindled  majesty  ; the  place  of  his 
residence  being  very  unfit  for  a lady’s  personal 
appearance.  I am  your  most  constant  reader, 
and  admirer,  ‘ N.  R.’ 

‘ Dear  Nestor, — It  is  a well  known  proverb  j 
in  a certain  part  of  this  kingdom,  “ Love  me, 
love  my  dog and  I hope  you  will  take  it  as  a 
mark  of  my  respect  for  your  person,  that  I here 
bring  a bit  for  your  lion.’  *** 

What  follows  being  secret  history,  it  will  be 
printed  in  other  papers;  wherein  the  lion  will 
publish  his  private  intelligence.  [ET’ 


No.  119.]  Tuesday,  July  28,  1713. 

poetarum  veniet  manus,  auxilio  quse 

Sit  mihi Hor.  Lib.  1.  Sat.  iv.  141. 

A band  of  poets  to  my  aid  I 'll  call. 

There  is  nothing  which  more  shows  the  want 
of  taste  and  discernment  in  a writer  than  the 
decrying  of  any  author  in  gross ; especially  of 
an  author  who  has  been  the  admiration  of  mul- 
titudes, and  that  too  in  several  ages  of  the  world. 
This  however  is  the  general  practice  of  qfi  illite- 
rate and  undistinguishing  critics.  Because  Ho- 
mer and  Virgil  and  Sophocles  have  been  com- 
mended by  the  learned  of  all  times,  every  scrib- 
bler who  has  no  relish  of  their  beauties,  gives 
himself  an  air  of  rapture  when  he  speaks  of 
them.  But  as  he  praises  these  he  knows  not 
why,  there  are  others  whom  he  depreciates  with 
the  same  vehemence,  and  upon  the  same  ac- 
count. We  may  see  after  what  a different  man- 
ner Strada  proceeds  in  his  judgment  on  the  La- 
tin poets ; for  I intend  to  publish  in  this  paper 
a continuation  of  that  prolusion  which  was  the 


subject  of  the  last  Thursday.  I shall  therefore 
give  my  reader  a short  account  in  prose  of  every 
poem  which  was  produced  in  the  learned  assem- 
bly there  described  ; and  if  he  is  thoroughly 
conversant  in  the  works  of  those  ancient  authors, 
he  will  see  with  how  much  judgment  every  sub- 
ject is  adapted  to  the  poet  who  makes  use  of  it, 
and  with  how  much  delicacy  every  particular 
poet’s  way  of  writing  is  characterised  in  the 
censure  that  is  passed  upon  it.  Lucan’s  repre- 
sentative was  the  first  who  recited  before  that 
august  assembly.  As  Lucan  was  a Spaniard, 
his  poem  does  honour  to  that  nation,  which  at 
the  same  time  makes  the  romantic  bravery  in 
the  hero  of  it  more  probable. 

Alphonso  was  the  governor  of  a town  invested 
by  the  Moors.  During  the  blockade  they  made 
his  only  son  their  prisoner,  whom  they  brought 
before  the  walls,  and  exposed  to  his  father’s  sight, 
threatening  to  put  him  to  death  if  he  did  not 
immediately  give  up  the  town.  The  father  tells 
them  if  he  had  a hundred  sons  he  would  rather 
see  tliem  all  perish,  than  do  an  ill  action,  or  be- 
tray his  country.  ‘ But,’  says  he,  ‘ if  you  take 
a pleasure  in  destroying  the  innocent,  you  may 
do  it  if  you  please  : behold  a sword  for  your 
purpose.’  Upon  which  he  threw  his  sword  from 
the  wall,  returned  to  his  palace,  and  was  able, 
at  such  a juncture,  to  sit  down  to  the  repast 
which  was  prepared  for  him.  He  was  soon 
raised  by  the  shouts  of  the  enemy,  and  the  cries 
of  the  besieged.  Upon  returning  again  to  the 
walls,  he  saw  his  son  lying  in  the  pangs  of 
death  ; but  far  from  betraying  any  weakness  at 
such  a spectacle,  he  upbraids  his  friends  for 
their  sorrow,  and  returns  to  finish  his  repast. 

Upon  the  recital  of  this  story,  which  is  ex- 
quisitely drawn  up  in  Lucan’s  spirit  and  Ian- 
guage,  the  whole  assembly  declared  their  opi- 
nion of  Lucan  in  a confused  murmur.  The 
jKjem  was  praised  or  censured  according  to  the 
prejudices  which  every  one  had  conceived  in 
favour  or  disadvantage  of  the  author.  These 
were  so  very  great,  that  some  had  placed  him, 
in  their  opinions,  above  the  highest,  and  others 
beneath  the  lowest  of  the  Latin  poets.  Most  of 
them,  however,  agreed,  that  Lucan’s  genius  was 
w’onderfully  great,  but  at  the  same  time  too 
haughty  and  headstrong  to  be  governed  by  art, 
and  that  his  style  was  like  his  genius,  learned, 
bold,  and  lively,  but  w’ithal  too  tragical  and  blus- 
tering. In  a word,  that  he  chose  rather  a great 
than  a just  reputation  ; to  w’hich  they  added, 
that  he  was  the  first  of  the  Latin  poets  who  de- 
viated from  the  purity  of  the  Roman  language. 

The  representative  of  Lucretius  told  the  as- 
sembly, that  they  should  soon  be  sensible  of  the 
ditference  between  a poet  who  was  a native  of 
Rome,  and  a stranger  w'ho  had  been  adopted 
into  it : after  which  he  entered  upon  his  subject, 
■«hich  I find  exhibited  to  my  hand  in  a specu- 
lation of  one  of  my  predecessors.* 

Stradu,  in  the  person  of  Lucretius,  gives  an 
account  of  n chimerical  correspondence  between 
two  friends,  by  the  help  of  a certain  loadstone, 
which  had  such  a virtue  in  it,  that  if  it  touched 
two  several  needles,  when  one  of  the  needles  so 


* See  Spectator,  No.  341. 


No.  120.J 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


163 


touched  began  to  move,tlie  other,  though  at  never 
so  great  a distance,  moved  at  the  same  time 
and  in  the  same  manner.  He  tells  us,  that  two 
friends,  being  each  of  them  possessed  of  one  of 
these  needles,  made  a kind  of  dial-plate,  inscrib- 
ing it  with  the  four-and-twenty  letters,  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  hours  of  the  day  are  marked 
upon  the  ordinary  dial-plate.  Then  they  fixed 
one  of  the  needles  on  each  of  these  plates  in  such 
a manner  that  it  could  move  round  without  im- 
pediment, so  as  to  touch  any  of  the  four-and- 
twenty  letters.  Upon  their  separating  from  one 
another  into  distant  countries,  they  agreed  to 
withdraw  themselves  punctually  into  their  clo- 
sets at  a certain  hour  of  the  day,  and  to  con- 
verse with  one  another  by  means  of  this  their 
invention.  Accordingly,  when  they  were  some 
hundred  miles  asunder,  each  of  them  shut  him- 
self up  in  his  closet  at  the  time  appointed,  and 
immediately  cast  his  eyes  upon  his  dial-plate. 
If  he  had  a mind  to  write  any  thing  to  his 
friend,  he  directed  his  needle  to  every  letter  tliat 
formed  the  words  which  he  had  occasion  for, 
making  a little  pause  at  the  end  of  every  word 
or  sentence  to  avoid  confusion.  The  friend,  in 
the  mean  while,  saw  his  own  sympathetic  needle 
moving  of  itself  to  every  letter  which  that  of 
his  correspondent  pointed  at.  By  this  means 
they  talked  together  across  a whole  continent, 
and  conveyed  their  thoughts  to  one  another  in  an 
instant  over  cities  or  mountains,  seas  or  deserts. 

The  whole  audience  were  pleased  with  the 
artifice  of  the  poet  who  represented  Lucretius, 
observing  very  well  how  he  had  laid  asleep 
their  attention  to  the  simplicity  of  his  style  in 
some  verses,  and  to  the  want  of  harmony  in 
others,  by  fixing  their  minds  to  the  novelty  of 
his  subject,  and  to  the  experiment  which  he  re- 
lated. Without  such  an  artifice  they  were  of 
opinion  that  nothing  would  have  sounded  more 
harsh  than  Lucretius’s  diction  and  numbers. 
But  it  was  plain  that  the  more  learned  part  of 
the  assembly  were  quite  of  another  mind. 
These  allowed  that  it  was  peculiar  to  Lucre- 
tius, above  all  other  poets,  to  be  always  doing 
or  teaching  something,  that  no  other  style 
was  so  proper  to  teach  in,  or  gave  a greater 
pleasure  to  those  who  had  a true  relish  for 
the  Roman  tongue.  They  added  further,  that 
if  Lucretius  had  not  been  embarrassed  with 
the  difficulty  of  his  matter,  and  a little  led  away 
by  an  affectation  of  antiquity,  there  could  not 
have  been  any  thing  more  perfect  than  his 
poem. 

Claudian  succeeded  Lucretius,  having  chosen 
for  his  subject  the  famous  contest  between  the 
nightingale  and  the  lutanist,  which  every  one 
is  acquainted  with,  especially  since  Mr.  Philips 
has  so  finely  improved  that  hint  in  one  of  his 
pastorals. 

He  had  no  sooner  finished  but  the  assembly 
rung  with  acclamations  made  in  his  praise. 
His  first  beauty,  which  every  one  owned,  was 
the  great  clearness  and  perspicuity  which  ap- 
peared in  the  plan  of  his  poem.  Others  were 
wonderfully  charmed  with  the  smoothness  of 
his  verse  and  the  flowing  of  his  numbers,  in 
which  there  were  none  of  those  elisions  and 
cuttings  off  so  frequent  in  the  works  of  other 
poets.  There  were  several,  however,  of  a more 


refined  judgment,  who  ridiculed  that  infusion 
of  foreign  phrases  with  which  he  had  corrupted 
the  Latin  tongue,  and  spoke  with  contempt  of 
the  equability  of  his  numbers,  that  cloyed  and 
satiated  the  ear  for  want  of  variety  : to  which 
they  likewise  added,  a frequent  and  unseason- 
able affectation  of  appearing  sonorous  and  sub- 
lime. 

The  sequel  of  this  prolusion  shall  be  the  work 
of  another  day.  O" 


No.  120.]  Wednesday,  July  29,  1713. 

— Nothing  lovelier  can  be  found 
In  woman,  than  to  study  household  good. 

And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote. 

Milton. 

A BIT  FOR  THE  LION. 

‘ Sir, — As  soon  as  you  have  set  up  your  uni- 
corn, there  is  no  question  but  the  ladies  will 
make  him  push  very  furiously  at  the  men  ; for 
which  reason  I think  it  is  good  to  be  beforehand 
with  them,  and  make  the  lion  roar  aloud  at  fe- 
male irregularities.  Among  these,  I wonder 
how  their  gaming  has  so  long  escaped  your 
notice.  You  who  converse  with  the  sober  fa- 
mily of  the  Lizards,  are  perhaps  a stranger  to 
these  viragos ; but  what  would  you  say,  should 
you  see  the  Sparkler  shaking  her  elbow  for  a 
whole  night  together,  and  thumping  the  table 
with  a dice-box  ? Or  how  would  you  like  to 
hear  the  good  widow  lady  herself  returning  to 
her  house  at  midnight,  and  alarming  the  whole 
street  with  a most  enormous  rap,,  after  having 
sat  up  until  that  time  at  crimp  or  ombre  ? Sir, 
I am  the  husband  of  one  of  these  female  game- 
sters, and  a great  loser  by  it,  both  in  my  rest 
and  my  pocket.  As  my  wife  reads  your  papers, 
one  upon  this  subject  might  be  of  use  both  to 
her  and  your  humble  servant.’ 

I should  ill  deserve  the  name  of  Guardian, 
did  I not  caution  all  my  fair  wards  against  a 
practice  which,  when  it  runs  to  excess,  is  the 
most  shameful,  but  one,  that  the  female  world 
can  fall  into.  The  ill  consequences  of  it  are 
more  than  can  be  contained  in  this  paper. 
However,  that  I may  proceed  in  method,  I shall 
consider  them  ; first, as  they  relate  to  the  mind; 
secondly,  as  they  relate  to  the  body. 

Could  we.  look  into  the  mind  of  a female 
gamester,  we  should  see  it  full  of  nothing  but 
trumps  and  mattadores.  Her  slumbers  are 
haunted  with  kings,  queens,  and  knaves.  The 
day  lies  heavy  upon  her  until  the  play  season 
returns,  when,  for  half  a dozen  hours  together, 
all  her  faculties  are  employed  in  shuffling,  cut- 
ting, dealing,  and  sorting  out  a pack  of  cards, 
and  no  ideas  to  be  discovered  in  a soul  which 
calls  itself  rational,  excepting  little  square 
figures  of  painted  and  spotted  paper.  Was  the 
understanding,  that  divine  part  in  our  compo- 
sition, given  for  such  a use  ? Is  it  thus  that 
we  improve  the  greatest  talent  human  nature  is 
endowed  with  ? What  would  a superior  being 
think  were  he  shown  this  intellectual  faculty  in 
a female  gamester,  and  at  the  same  time  told, 
that  it  was  by  tiiis  she  was  distinguished  from 
brutes,  and  allied  to  angels  ? 


164 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  121. 


When  our  women  thus  fill  their  imagina- 
tions with  pips  and  counters,  I cannot  wonder 
at  the  story  I have  lately  heard  of  a new-born 
child  that  was  marked  with  the  five  of  clubs. 

Their  passions  suffer  no  less  by  this  practice 
than  their  understandings  and  imaginations. 
What  hope  and  fear,  joy  and  anger,  sorrow  and 
discontent,  break  out  all  at  once  in  a fair  assem- 
bly upon  so  noble  an  occasion  as  that  of  turning 
up  a card  ! Who  can  consider,  without  a secret 
indignation  that  all  those  affections  of  the  mind 
which  should  be  consecrated  to  their  children, 
husbands,  and  parents,  are  thus  vilely  prosti- 
tuted and  thrown  away  upon  a hand  at  loo  ! 
For  my  own  part,  I cannot  but  be  grieved  when 
I see  a fine  woman  fretting  and  bleeding  in- 
wardly from  such  trivial  motives  ; when  I be- 
hold the  face  of  an  angel  agitated  and  discom- 
posed by  the  heart  of  a fury. 

Our  minds  are  of  such  a make,  that  they 
naturally  give  themselves  up  to  every  diversion 
which  they  are  much  accustomed  to  ; and  we 
always  find  that  play,  when  followed  with  assi- 
duity, engrosses  the  whole  woman.  She  quickly 
grows  uneasy  in  her  own  family,  takes  but  lit- 
tle pleasure  in  all  the  domestic  innocent  endear- 
ments of  life,  and  grows  more  fond  of  Pam, 
than  of  her  husband.  My  friend  Theophrastus, 
the  best  of  husbands  and  of  fathers,  has  often 
complained  to  me,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  of  the 
late  hours  he  is  forced  to  keep  if  he  would  enjoy 
his  wife’s  conversation.  ‘ When  she  returns  to 
me  with  joy  in  her  face,  it  does  not  arise,’  says 
he,  ‘ from  the  sight  of  her  husband,  but  from 
the  good  luck  she  has  had  at  cards.  On  the 
contrary,’  says  he,  ‘ if  she  has  been  a loser,  I 
am  doubly  a sufferer  by  it.  She  comes  home 
out  of  humour,  is  angry  with  every  body,  dis- 
pleased with  all  I can  do  or  say,  and  in  reality 
for  no  other  reason,  but  because  she  has  been 
throwing  away  my  estate.’  What  charming 
bed-fellows  and  companions  for  life  are  men 
likel)T  to  meet  with,  that  choose  their  wives  out 
of  such  women  of  vogue  and  fashion  ! What  a 
race  of  worthies,  what  patriots,  what  heroes, 
must  we  expect  from  mothers  of  this  make  ! 

I come  in  the  next  place  to  consider  the  ill 
consequences  which  gaming  has  on  the  bodies 
of  our  female  adventurers.  It  is  so  ordered  that 
almost  every  thing  which  corrupts  the  soul  de- 
cays the  body.  The  beauties  of  the  face  and 
mind  are  generally  destroyed  by  the  same 
means.  This  consideration  should  have  a par- 
ticular weight  with  the  female  world,  who  were 
designed  to  please  the  eye  and  attract  the  re- 
gards of  the  other  half  of  the  species.  Now 
there  is  nothing  that  wears  out  a fine  face  like 
the  vigils  of  the  card-table,  and  those  cutting 
passions  which  naturally  attend  them.  Hollow 
eyes,  haggard  looks,  and  pale  complexions,  are 
the  natural  indications  of  a female  gamester. 
Her  morning  sleeps  are  not  able  to  repair  her 
midnight  watchings.  I have  known  a woman 
earried  off  half  dead  from  bassette ; and  have 
many  a time  grieved  to  see  a person  of  quality 
gliding  by  me  in  her  chair  at  two  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  and  looking  like  a spectre  amidst  a 
glare  of  flambeaux.  In  short,  I never  knew  a 
thorough-paced  female  gamester  hold  her  beauty 
two  winters  together. 


But  there  is  still  another  case  in  which  the 
body  is  more  endangered  than  in  the  former. 
All  play-debts  must  be  paid  in  specie,  or  by  an 
equivalent.  The  man  that  plays  beyond  his 
income  pawns  his  estate;  the  woman  must  find 
out  something  else  to  mortgage  when  her  pin- 
money  is  gone.  The  husband  has  his  lands  to 
dispose  ofi  the  wife  her  person.  Now  when 
the  female  body  is  once  dipped,  if  the  creditor 
be  very  importunate,  I leave  my  reader  to  con- 
sider the  consequences.  HIT’ 


No.  121.]  Thursday,  July  30,  1713. 

Hinc  exaudiri  gemitus,  iraeque  Iconum. 

yirg.  jEn.  vii.  15. 

Hence  to  our  ear  the  roar  of  lions  came. 

ROARINGS  OF  THE  LION. 

‘ Old  Nestor, — Ever  since  the  first  notice 
you  gave  of  the  erection  of  that  useful  monu- 
ment of  yours  in  Button’s  coffee-house,  I have 
had  a restless  ambition  to  imitate  the  renowned 
London  prentice,  and  boldly  venture  my  hand 
down  the  throat  of  your  lion.  The  subject  of 
this  letter  is  a relation  of  a club  whereof  I am 
member,  and  wdiich  has  made  a considerable 
noise  of  late.  I mean  the  Silent  Club.  The 
year  of  our  institution  is  1694,  the  number  of 
members  twelve,  and  the  place  of  our  meeting 
is  Durnb’s-alley,  in  Holborn.  We  look  upon 
ourselves  as  the  relics  of  the  old  Pythagoreans, 
and  have  this  maxim  in  common  with  them, 
which  is  the  foundation  of  our  design,  that 
“ Talking  spoils  company.”  The  president  of 
our  society  is  one  who  was  born  deaf  and  dumb, 
and  owes  that  blessing  to  nature,  which,  in  the 
rest  of  us,  is  owing  to  industry  alone.  I find 
upon  inquiry,  that  the  greater  part  of  us  are 
married  men,  and  such  whose  wives  are  re- 
markably loud  at  home.  Hither  we  fly  for  re- 
fuge, and  enjoy  at  once  the  two  greatest  and 
most  valuable  blessings,  company  and  retire- 
ment. When  that  eminent  relation  of  yours, 
the  Spectator,  published  his  weekly  papers,  and 
gave  us  that  remarkable  account  of  his  silence 
(for  you  must  know,  though  w^e  do  not  read,  yet 
we  inspect  all  such  useful  essays)  we  seemed 
unanimous  to  invite  him  to  partake  our  secrecy, 
but  it  w’as  unluckily  objected,  that  he  had  just 
then  published  a discourse  of  his  at  his  own 
club,  and  had  not  arrived  to  that  happy  inacti- 
vity of  the  tongue,  which  we  expected  from  a 
man  of  his  understanding.  You  will  wonder, 
perhaps,  how  we  managed  this  debate  ; but  it 
will  be  easily  accounted  for,  when  I tell  you 
that  our  fingers  are  as  nimble,  and  as  infallible 
interpreters  of  our  thoughts,  as  other  men’s 
tongues  are  ; yet  even  this  mechanic  eloquence 
is  only  allowed  upon  the  weightiest  occasions. 
We  admire  the  wise  institutions  of  the  Turks, 
and  other  eastern  nations,  where  all  commands 
are  performed  by  officious  mutes  ; and  w^e  win- 
der that  the  polite  courts  of  Christendom  should 
come  so  far  short  of  the  majesty  of  barbarians. 
Ben  Jonson  has  gained  an  eternal  reputation 
among  us  by  his  play  called  the  Silent  Woman. 
Every  member  here  is  another  Morose  while 


No.  122.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


165 


the  club  is  sitting,  but  at  home  may  talk  as 
much  and  as  fast  as  his  family  occasions  require, 
without  breach  of  statute.  The  advantages  we 
find  from  this  quaker-like  assembly  are  many. 
We  consider,  that  the  understanding  of  man  is 
liable  to  mistakes,  and  his  will  fond  of  contra- 
dictions ; that  disputes  which  are  of  no  weight 
in  themselves,  are  often  very  considerable  in 
their  effects.  The  disuse  of  the  tongue  is  the 
only  effectual  remedy  against  these.  All  party 
concerns,  all  private  scandal,  all  insults  over 
another  man’s  weaker  reasons,  must  there  be 
lost  where  no  disputes  arise.  Another  advan- 
tage which  follows  from  the  first  (and  which 
is  very  rarely  to  be  met  with)  is,  that  we  are 
all  upon  the  same  level  in  conversation.  A wag 
of  my  acquaintance  used  to  add  a third,  viz  : 
that  if  ever  we  do  debate,  we  are  sure  to  have 
all  our  arguments  at  our  fingers’  ends.  Of  all 
Longinus’s  remarks,  we  are  most  enamoured 
with  that  excellent  passage,  where  he  men- 
tions Ajax’s  silence  as  one  of  the  noblest  in- 
stances of  the  sublime ; and  (if  you  will  allow 
me  to  be  free  with  a namesake  of  yours)  I 
should  think  that  the  everlasting  story-teller, 
Nestor,  had  he  been  likened  to  the  ass  instead 
of  our  hero,  he  had  suffered  less  by  the  com- 
parison. 

‘ I have  already  described  the  practice  and 
sentiments  of  this  society,  and  shall  but  barely 
mention  the  report  of  the  neighbourhood,  that 
we  are  not  only  as  mute  as  fishes,  but  that  we 
drink  like  fishes  too;  that  we  are  like  the  Welsh- 
man’s owl,  though  we  do  not  sing,  we  pay  it  off 
with  thinking.  Others  take  us  for  an  assembly 
of  disaffected  persons ; nay,  their  zeal  to  the  go- 
vernment has  carried  them  so  far  as  to  send, 
last  week,  a party  of  constables  to  surprise  us. 
You  may  easily  imagine  how  exactly  we  repre- 
sented the  Roman  senators  of  old,  sitting  with 
majestic  silence,  and  undaunted  at  the  approach 
of  an  army  of  Gauls.  If  you  approve  of  our  un- 
dertaking, you  need  not  declare  it  to  the  world; 
your  silence  shall  be  interpreted  as  consent  given 
to  the  honourable  body  of  mutes,  and  in  parti- 
cular to  your  humble  servant,  NED  MUM. 

‘ P.  S.  We  have  had  but  one  word  spoken 
since  the  foundation,  for  which  the  member  was 
expelled  by  the  old  Roman  custom  of  bending 
back  the  thumb.  He  had  just  received  the  news 
of  the  battle  of  Hochstet,  and  being  too  impa- 
tient to  communicate  his  joy,  was  unfortunately 
betrayed  into  a lapsus  Ungues.  We  acted  on  the 
principles  of  the  Roman  Manlius,  and  though 
we  approved  of  the  cause  of  his  error  as  just, 
we  condemned  the  effect,  as  a manifest  viola- 
tion of  his  duty.’ 

I never  could  have  thought  a dumb  man  would 
have  roared  so  well  out  of  my  lion’s  mouth.  P»Iy 
next  pretty  correspondent,  like  Shakspeare’s  lion 
in  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  roars  as  it  were  any 
nightingale. 

‘ July  28,  1713. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — I was  afraid  at  first  you 
were  only  in  jest,  and  had  a mind  to  expose  our 
nakedness  for  the  diversion  of  the  town ; but 
sinee  I see  that  you  are  in  good  earnest,  and 
have  infallibility  of  your  side,  I cannot  forbear 


returning  my  thanks  to  you  for  the  care  you 
take  of  us,  having  a friend  who  has  promised 
me  to  give  my  letters  to  the  lion,  until  we  can 
communicate  our  thoughts  to  you  through  our 
own  proper  vehicle.  Now  you  must  know,  dear 
sir,  that  if  you  do  not  take  care  to  suppress  this 
exorbitant  growth  of  the  female  chest,  all  that 
is  left  of  my  waist  must  inevitably  perish.  It  is 
at  this  time  reduced  to  the  depth  of  four  inches, 
by  what  I have  already  made  over  to  my  neck. 
But  if  the  stripping  design,  mentioned  by  Mrs. 
Figleaf  yesterday,  should  take  effect,  sir,  I dread 
to  think  what  it  will  come  to.  In  short,  there  is 
no  help  for  it,  my  girdle  and  all  must  go.  This 
is  the  naked  truth  of  the  matter.  Have  pity  on 
me  then,  my  dear  Guardian,  and  preserve  me 
from  being  so  inhumanly  exposed.  I do  assure 
you  that  I follow  your  precepts  as  much  as  a 
young  woman  can,  who  will  live  in  the  world 
without  being  laughed  at.  I have  no  hooped 
petticoat,  and  when  I am  a matron  will  wear 
broad  tuckers  whether  you  succeed  or  no.  If 
the  flying  project  takes,  I intend  to  be  the  last 
in  wings,  being  resolved  in  every  thing  to  be- 
have myself  as  becomes  your  most  obedient 
ward.’  IG" 


No.  122.]  Friday,  July  31,  1713. 

Nec  magis  express!  vultus  per  ahenea  signa. 

7/or.  Lib.  2.  Ep.  i.  248. 

IMITATED. 

Not  with  such  majesty,  such  bold  relief, 

The  forms  august,  of  king,  or  conqu’ring  chief, 

E’er  swell’d  on  marble.  Pope. 

That  I may  get  out  of  debt  with  the  public 
as  fast  as  I can,  I shall  here  give  them  the  re- 
maining part  of  Strada’s  criticism  on  the  Latin 
heroic  poets.  My  readers  may  see  the  whole 
work  in  the  three  papers  numbered  115,  119, 
122.  Those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  authors 
themselves  cannot  but  be  pleased  to  see  them  so 
justly  represented;  and  as  for  those  who  have 
never  perused  the  originals,  they  may  form  a 
judgment  of  them  from  such  accurate  and  en- 
tertaining copies.  The  whole  piece  will  show 
at  least  how  a man  of  genius  (and  none  else 
should  call  himself  a critic)  can  make  the  driest 
art  a pleasing  amusement. 

The  Sequel  of  Strada's  Prolusion. 

The  poet  who  personated  Ovid,  gives  an  ac- 
count of  the  chryso-magnet,  or  of  the  loadstone 
which  attracts  gold,  after  the  same  manner  as 
the  common  loadstone  attracts  iron.  The  au- 
thor, that  he  might  express  Ovid’s  way  of 
thinking,  derives  this  virtue  to  the  chryso-mag- 
net from  a poetical  metamorphosis. 

‘ As  I was  sitting  by  a well,’  says  he,  ‘ when 
I was  a boy,  my  ring  dropped  into  it,  when  im- 
mediately my  father  fastening  a certain  stone 
to  the  end  of  a line,  let  it  down  into  the  well. 
It  no  sooner  touched  the  surface  of  the  water, 
but  the  ring  leaped  up  from  the  bottom,  and 
clung  to  it  in  such  a manner,  that  he  drew  it 
out  like  a fish.  My  father,  seeing  me  wonder 
at  the  experiment,  gave  me  the  following  ac- 
count of  it : When  Deucalion  and  Pyrrha  went 


]66 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


about  the  world  to  repair  mankind  by  throwing 
stones  over  their  heads,  the  men  who  rose  from 
them  differed  in  their  inclinations  according  to 
the  places  on  which  the  stones  fell.  Those 
which  fell  in  the  fields  became  ploughmen  and 
shepherds.  Those  which  fell  into  the  water  pro- 
duced sailors  and  fishermen.  Those  that  fell 
among  the  woods  and  forests  gave  birth  to 
huntsmen.  Among  the  rest  there  were  several 
that  fell  upon  mountains  that  had  mines  of  gold 
and  silver  in  them.  This  last  race  of  men  im- 
mediately betook  themselves  to  the  search  of 
these  precious  metals ; but  nature  being  dis- 
pleased to  see  herself  ransacked,  withdrew  these 
her  treasures  towards  the  centre  of  the  earth. 
The  avarice  of  man,  however,  persisted  in  its 
former  pursuits,  and  ransacked  her  inmost  bow- 
els in  quest  of  the  riches  which  they  contained. 
Nature  seeing  herself  thus  plundered  by  a 
swarm  of  miners,  was  so  highly  incensed,  that 
she  shook  the  whole  place  with  an  earthquake, 
and  buried  the  men  under  their  own  works. 
The  Stygian  flames  which  lay  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  these  deep  mines,  broke  out  at  the 
same  time  with  great  fury,  burning  up  the 
whole  mass  of  human  limbs  and  earth,  until 
they  were  hardened  and  baked  into  stone.  The 
human  bodies  that  were  delving  in  iron  mines 
were  converted  into  those  common  loadstones 
which  attract  that  metal.  Those  which  were 
in  search  of  gold  became  chry so- magnets,  and 
still  keep  their  former  avarice  in  their  present 
state  of  petrifaction.’ 

Ovid  had  no  sooner  given  over  speaking,  but 
the  assembly  pronounced  their  opinions  of  him. 
Several  were  so  taken  with  his  easy  way  of 
writing,  and  had  so  formed  their  tastes  upon  it, 
that  they  had  no  relish  for  any  composition 
which  was  not  framed  in  the  Ovidian  manner. 
A great  many,  however,  were  of  a contrary 
opinion ; until  at  length  it  was  determined,  by 
a plurality  of  voices,  that  Ovid  highly  deserved 
the  name  of  a witty  man,  but  that  his  language 
was  vulgar  and  trivial,  and  of  the  nature  of  those 
things  which  cost  no  labour  in  the  invention, 
but  are  ready  found  out  to  a man’s  hand.  In 
the  last  place,  they  all  agreed,  that  the  greatest 
objection  which  lay  against  Ovid,  both  as  to  his 
life  and  writings,  was  his  having  too  much  wit, 
and  that  he  would  have  succeeded  better  in  both, 
had  he  rather  checked  than  indulged  it.  Statius 
stood  up  next,  with  a swelling  and  haughty  air, 
and  made  the  following  story  the  subject  of  his 
poem. 

A German  and  a Portuguese,  when  Vienna 
was  besieged,  having  had  frequent  contests  of 
rivalry,  were  preparing  for  a single  duel,  when 
on  a sudden  the  walls  were  attacked  by  the 
enemy.  Upon  this,  both  the  German  and  Por- 
tuguese consented  to  sacrifice  their  private  re- 
sentments to  the  public,  and  to  see  who  could 
signalize  himself  most  upon  the  common  foe. — 
Each  of  them  did  wonders  in  repelling  the  ene- 
my from  different  parts  of  the  wall.  The  Ger- 
man was  at  length  engaged  amidst  a whole 
army  of  Turks,  until  his  left  arm,  that  held  the 
shield,  was  unfortunately  lopped  off,  and  he 
himself  so  stunned  with  a blow  he  had  received, 
that  he  fell  down  as  dead.  The  Portuguese, 
seeing  the  condition  of  his  rival,  very  generously 


[No.  122. 

flew  to  his  succour,  dispersed  the  multitude  that 
were  gathered  about  him,  and  fought  over  him 
as  he  lay  upon  the  grouiid.  In  the  meanwhile  the 
German  recovered  from  his  trance,  ami  rose  up 
to  the  assistance  of  the  Portuguese,  who  a little 
after  had  his  right  arm,  which  held  his  sword, 
cut  off  by  the  blow  of  a sabre.  He  would  have 
lost  his  life  at  the  same  time  by  a spear  which 
was  aimed  at  his  back,  had  not  the  German  slain 
the  person  wflio  was  aiming  at  him.  These  two 
competitors  for  fame  having  received  such  mutu- 
al obligations,  now  fought  in  conjunction,  and  as 
the  one  was  only  able  to  manage  the  sw'ord,  and 
the  other  a shield,  made  up  but  one  warrior  be- 
twixt them.  The  Portuguese  covered  the  Ger- 
man, w'hile  the  German  dealt  destruction  upon 
the  enemy.  At  length,  finding  themselves  faint 
with  loss  of  blood,  and  resolving  to  perish  no- 
bly, they  advanced  to  the  most  shattered  part 
of  the  wall,  and  threw  themselves  down,  with 
a huge  fragment  of  it,  upon  the  heads  of  the 
besiegers. 

When  Statius  ceased,  the  old  factions  imme- 
diately broke  out  concerning  his  manner  of 
writing.  Some  gave  him  very  loud  aeclama- 
tions,  such  as  he  had  received  in  his  life-time, 
declaring  him  the  only  man  who  had  written  in 
a style  which  w'as  truly  heroical,  and  that  he 
was  above  all  others  in  his  fame  as  w’ell  as  in 
his  diction.  Others  censured  him  as  one  who 
went  beyond  all  bounds  in  his  images  and  ex- 
pressions, laughing  at  the  cruelty  of  his  concep- 
tions, the  rumbling  of  his  numbers,  and  the 
dreadful  pomp  and  bombast  of  his  expressions. 
There  w^ere,  how^ever,  a few  select  judges,  w'ho 
moderated  between  both  these  extremes,  and 
pronounced  upon  Statius,  that  there  appeared  in 
his  style  much  poetical  heat  and  fire,  but  withal 
so  much  smoke  as  sullied  the  brightness  of  it. 
That  there  was  a majesty  in  his  verse,  but  that 
it  was  the  majesty  rather  of  a tyrant  than  of  a 
king.  That  he  was  often  towering  among  the 
clouds,  but  often  met  with  the  fate  of  Icarus.  In  a 
word,  that  Statius  was  among  the  poets,  what 
Alexander  the  Great  is  among  heroes,  a man 
of  great  virtues  and  of  great  faults. 

Virgil  was  the  last  of  the  ancient  poets  who 
produced  himself  upon  this  occasion.  His  sub- 
ject was  the  story  of  Theutilla,  which  being  so 
near  that  of  Judith  in  all  its  circumstances,  and 
at  the  same  time  translated  by  a very  ingenious 
gentleman  in  one  of  Mr.  Dryden’s  Miscellanies, 

I shall  here  give  no  further  account  of  it.  When 
he  had  done,  the  whole  assembly  declared  the 
works  of  this  great  poet  a subject  rather  for  \ 
their  admiration  than  for  their  applause,  and 
that  if  any  thing  was  wanting  in  Virgil’s  poetry, 
it  was  to  be  ascribed  to  a deficieney  in  the  art 
itself,  and  not  in  the  genius  of  this  great  man. 
There  were,  however,  some  envious  murmurs 
and  detractions  heard  among  the  crowd,  as  if 
there  were  very  frequently  verses  in  him  which  j 
flagged  or  wanted  spirit,  and  were  rather  to  be  i 
looked  upon  as  faultless  than  beautiful.  But 
these  injudicious  censures  were  heard  with  a 
general  indignation. 

I need  not  observe  to  my  learned  reader,  that 
the  foregoing  story  of  the  German  and  Portu- 
guese is  almost  the  same  in  every  particular 
with  that  of  the  two  rival  soldiers  in  Caesar’s 


No.  123.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


167 


j Commentaries.  This  prolusion  ends  with  the 
performance  of  an  Italian  poet,  full  of  those  lit- 
tle witticisms  and  conceits  which  have  infected 
the  greatest  part  of  modern  poetry.  ICr 


No.  123.]  Saturday,  August  1,  1713. 

Hie  murus  aheneus  esto, 

Nil  conscire  sibi Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  i.  60. 

IMITATED. 

True,  conscious  honour  is  to  feel  no  sin  ; 

He’s  arm’d  without  that ’s  innocent  within  ; 

Be  this  thy  screen,  and  this  thy  wall  of  brass. 

Pope. 

There  are  a sort  of  knights-errant  in  the 
world,  who,  quite  contrary  to  those  in  romance, 
are  perpetually  seeking  adventures  to  bring 
virgins  into  distress,  and  to  ruin  innocence. 
When  men  of  rank  and  figure  pass  away  their 
lives  in  these  criminal  pursuits  and  practices, 
they  ought  to  consider  that  they  render  them- 
selves more  vile  and  despicable  than  any  inno- 
cent man  can  be,  whatever  low  station  his  for- 
tune or  birth  have  placed  him  in.  Title  and 
ancestry  render  a good  man  more  illustrious, 
but  an  ill  one  more  contemptible. 

‘ Thy  father’s  merit  sets  thee  up  to  view. 

And  plants  thee  in  the  fairest  point  of  light. 

To  make  thy  virtues,  or  thy  faults  conspicuous.’ 

Cato, 

I have  often  wondered  that  these  deflourers 
of  innocence,  though  dead  to  all  the  sentiments  j 
of  virtue  and  honour,  are  not  restrained  by  com- 
passion and  humanity.  To  bring  sorrow,  con- 
fusion, and  infamy,  into  a family,  to  wound  the 
heart  of  a tender  parent,  and  stain  the  life  of  a poor 
deluded  young  woman  with  a dishonour  that 
can  never  be  wiped  off,  are  circumstances,  one 
would  think,  sufficient  to  check  the  most  violent 
passion  in  a heart  which  has  the  least  tincture 
of  pity  and  good-nature.  Would  any  one  pur- 
chase the  gratification  of  a moment  at  so  dear 
a rate,  and  entail  a lasting  misery  on  others,  for 
such  a transient  satisfaction  to  himself ; nay, 
for  a satisfaction  that  is  sure,  at  some  time  or 
other,  to  be  followed  with  remorse  ? I am  led 
to  the  subject  by  two  letters  which  came  lately 
to  my  hands.  The  last  of  them  is,  it  seems,  the 
copy  of  one  sent  by  a mother  to  one  who  had 
abused  her  daughter;  and  though  I cannot  jus- 
tify her  sentiments  at  the  latter  end  of  it,  they 
are  such  as  might  arise  in  a mind  which  had  not 
yet  recovered  its  temper  after  so  great  a provo- 
cation. I present  the  reader  with  it  as  I re- 
ceived it,  because  I tliink  it  gives  a lively  idea 
of  the  affliction  of  which  a fond  parent  suffers 
on  such  an  occasion. 

‘ shire,  July,  1713. 

‘ Sir, — The  other  day  I went  into  the  house 
of  one  of  my  tenants,  whose  wife  was  formerly 
a servant  in  our  family,  and  (by  my  grandmo- 
ther’s kindness")  had  her  education  with  my 
mother  from  her  infancy  ; so  that  she  is  of  a 
spirit  and  understanding  greatly  superior  to 
those  of  her  own  rank.  I found  the  poor  wo- 
man in  the  utmost  disorder  of  mind  and  attire, 
drowned  in  tears,  and  reduced  to  a condition 
that  looked  rather  like  stupidity  than  grief.  She 
leaned  upon  her  arm  over  a table,  on  which  lay 


a letter  folded  up  and  directed  to  a certain  no- 
bleman very  famous  in  our  parts  for  low  in- 
trigue, or  (in  plainer  words)  for  debauching 
country  girls;  in  which  number  is  the  unfortu- 
nate daughter  of  my  poor  tenant,  as  I learn 
from  the  following  letter  written  by  her  mother. 
I have  sent  you  here  a copy  of  it,  which,  made 
public  in  your  paper,  may  perhaps  furnish  use- 
ful reflections  to  many  men  of  figure  and  quality, 
who  indulge  themselves  in  a passion  which  they 
possess  but  in  common  with  the  vilest  part  of 
mankind. 

“ My  Lord, — Last  night  I discovered  the  in- 
jury you  have  done  to  my  daughter.  Heaven 
knows  how  long  and  piercing  a torment  that 
short-lived  shameful  pleasure  of  yours  must 
bring  upon  me  ; upon  me,  from  whom  you  never 
received  any  offence.  This  consideration  alone 
should  have  deterred  a noble  mind  from  so  base 
and  ungenerous  an  act.  But  alas  ! what  is  all 
the  grief  that  must  be  my  share,  in  comparison 
of  that,  with  which  you  have  requited  her  by 
whom  you  have  been  obliged  7 Loss  of  good 
name,  anguish  of  heart,  shame,  and  infamy  are 
what  must  inevitably  fall  upon  her,  unless  she 
gets  over  them  by  what  is  much  worse,  open 
impudence,  professed  lewdness,  and  abandoned 
prostitution.  These  are  the  returns  you  have 
made  to  her  for  putting  in  your  power  all  her 
livelihood  and  dependence,  her  virtue  and  repu- 
tation. O,  my  lord,  should  my  son  have  prac- 
tised the  like  on  one  of  your  daughters — I know 
you  swell  with  indignation  at  the  very  mention 
of  it,  and  would  think  he  deserved  a thousand 
deaths,  should  he  make  such  an  attempt  upon 
the  honour  of  your  family.  It  is  well,  my  lord. 
And  is  then  the  honour  of  your  daughter,  whom 
still,  though  it  had  been  violated,  you  might 
have  maintained  in  plenty  and  even  luxury,  of 
greater  moment  to  her,  than  to  my  daughter 
hers,  whose  only  sustenance  it  was  ? And  must 
my  son,  void  of  all  the  advantages  of  a generous 
education,  must  he,  I say,  consider ; and  may 
your  lordship  be  excused  from  all  reflection  ? 
Eternal  contumely  attend  that  guilty  title  which 
claims  exemption  frotn  thought,  and  arrogates 
to  its  wearers  the  prerogative  of  brutes.  Ever 
cursed  be  its  false  lustre,  which  could  dazzle 
my  poor  daughter  to  her  undoing.  Was  it  for 
this  that  the  exalted  merits  and  godlike  virtues 
of  your  great  ancestor  were  honoured  with  a 
coronet,  that  it  might  be  a pander  to  his  poste- 
rity, and  confer  a privilege  of  dishonouring  the 
innocent  and  defenceless  ? At  this  rate  the  laws 
of  rewards  should  be  inverted,  and  he  who  is 
generous  and  good,  should  be  made  a beggar 
and  a slave  ; that  industry  and  honest  diligence 
may  keep  his  posterity  unspotted,  and  preserve 
them  from  ruining  virgins,  and  making  whole 
families  unhappy.  Wretchedness  is  now  be- 
come my  everlasting  portion  ! Your  crime,  my 
lord,  will  draw  perdition  even  upon  my  head.  I 
may  not  sue  for  forgiveness  of  my  own  failings 
and  misdeeds,  for  I never  can  forgive  yours,  but 
shall  curse  you  with  my  dying  breath ; and  at 
the  last  tremendous  day  shall  hold  forth  in  my 
arms  my  much  wronged  child,  and  call  aloud 
for  vengeance  on  her  defiler.  Under  these  pre- 
sent horrors  of  mind,  I could  be  content  to  be 


168 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


your  chief  tormentor,  ever  paying  you  mock 
reverence,  and  sounding  in  your  ears,  to  your 
unutterable  loathing,  the  empty  title  which  in- 
spired you  with  presumption  to  tempt,  and 
overawed  my  daughter  to  comply. 

“ Thus  have  I given  some  vent  to  my  sorrow ; 
nor  fear  I to  awaken  you  to  repentance,  so  that 
your  sin  may  be  forgiven.  The  divine  laws 
have  been  broken  ; but  much  injury,  irreparable 
injury,  has  been  also  done  to  me,  and  the  just 
Judge  will  not  pardon  that  until  I do.  My  lord, 
your  conscience  will  help  you  to  my  name.” 

O’ 


No.  124.J  Monday,  August  3,  1713. 

Cluid  fremat  in  terris  violentius  1—Juv.  Sat.  viii.  37. 

What  roar  more  dreadful  in  the  world  is  heard  ? 

MORE  ROARINGS  OF  THE  LION. 

‘ Mr.  Guardian, — Before  I proceed  to  make 
you  my  proposals,  it  will  be  necessary  to  inform 
you,  that  an  uncommon  ferocity  in  my  counte- 
nance, together  with  the  remarkable  flatness  of 
my  nose,  and  extent  of  my  mouth,  have  long 
since  procured  me  the  name  of  Lion  in  this  our 
university. 

‘ The  vast  emolument  that  in  all  probability 
will  accrue  to  the  public  from  the  roarings  of 
my  new-erected  likeness  at  Button’s,  hath  made 
me  desirous  of  being  as  like  him  in  that  part  of 
his  character,  as  I am  told  I already  am  in 
all  parts  of  my  person.  Wherefore  I most  hum- 
bly  propose  to  you,  that  (as  it  is  impossible  for 
this  one  lion  to  roar,  either  long  enough  or  loud 
enough  against  all  things  that  are  roar-worthy 
in  these  realms)  you  would  appoint  him  a sub- 
lion, as  a praifectus  provincicB,  in  every  county 
in  Great  Britain ; and  it  is  my  request,  that  I 
may  be  instituted  his  under-roarer  in  this  uni- 
versity, town,  and  county  of  Cambridge,  as  my 
resemblance  does,  in  some  measure,  claim 
that  I should. 

‘ I shall  follow  my  metropolitan’s  example, 
in  roaring  only  against  those  enormities  that 
are  too  slight  and  trivial  for  the  notice  or  cen- 
sures of  our  magistrates  ; and  shall  communi- 
cate my  roarings  to  him  monthly,  or  oflener, 
if  occasion  requires,  to  be  inserted  in  your  pa- 
pers cum  privilegio. 

‘ I shall  not  omit  giving  informations  of  the 
improvement  or  decay  of  punning,  and  may 
chance  to  touch  upon  the  rise  and  fall  of  tuck- 
ers ; but  I will  roar  aloud,  and  spare  not,  to  the 
terror  of,  at  present,  a very  flourishing  society 
of  people  called  loungers,  gentlemen  whose  ob- 
servations are  mostly  itinerant,  and  who  think 
they  have  already  too  much  good  sense  of  their 
own,  to  be  in  need  of  staying  at  home  to  read 
other  people’s. 

‘ I have,  sir,  a raven,  that  shall  serve  by  way 
of  jackall,  to  bring  me  in  provisions,  which  I 
shall  chaw  and  prepare  for  the  digestion  of  my 
principal,  and  I do  hereby  give  notice  to  all  un- 
der my  jurisdiction,  that  whoever  are  willing  to 
contribute  to  this  good  design,  if  they  will  affix 
their  information  to  the  leg  or  neck  of  the  afore- 
said raven  or  jackall,  they  will  be  thankfully 


[No.  124. 

received  by  their  (but  more  particularly  your) 
humble  servant,  LEO  THE  SECOND. 

‘ From  my  den  at college,  in  Cambridge,  July  29. 

‘ N.  B.  The  raven  won’t  bite.’ 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — Hearing  that  your  unicorn 
is  now  in  hand,  and  not  questioning  but  his  horn 
will  prove  a cornucopioB  to  you,  I desire  that  in 
order  to  introduce  it,  you  will  consider  the  fol- 
lowing proposal. 

‘ My  wife  and  I intend  a dissertation  upon 
horns;  the  province  she  has  chosen,  is  the  plant- 
ing of  them,  and  I am  to  treat  of  their  growth, 
improvement,  &:.c.  The  work  is  like  to  swell 
so  much  upon  our  hands,  that  I am  afraid  we 
shall  not  be  able  to  bear  the  charge  of  printing 
it  without  a subscription  ; wherefore  I hope  you 
will  invite  the  city  into  it,  and  desire  those  who 
have  any  thing  by  them  relating  to  that  part  of 
natural  history,  to  communicate  it  to,  sir,  your 
humble  servant, 

‘ HUMPHREY  BINICORN.’ 

‘ Sir, — I humbly  beg  leave  to  drop  a song 
into  your  lion’s  mouth,  which  will  very  truly 
make  him  roar  like  any  nightingale.  It  is  fallen 
into  my  hands  by  chance,  and  is  a very  fine 
imitation  of  the  works  of  many  of  our  English 
lyrics.  It  cannot  but  be  highly  acceptable  to  all 
those  who  admire  the  translations  of  Italian 
operas. 

Oh  the  charming  month  of  May! 

Oh  the  charming  month  of  May  I 
When  the  breezes  fan  the  treeses 

Full  of  blossoms  fresh  and  gay 

Full,  &c. 

II. 

Oh  what  joys  our  prospects  yield ! 

Charming  joys  our  prospects  yield! 

In  a new  livery  when  we  see  every 

Bush  and  meadow,  tree  and  field 

Bush,  &c. 

III. 

Oh  how  fresh  the  morning  air! 

Charming  fresh  the  morning  air! 

When  the  zephyrs  and  the  heifers 

Their  odoriferous  breath  compare 

Their,  &c. 

IV. 

Oh  how  fine  our  evening  walk  ! 

Charming  fine  our  evening  walk! 

When  the  nighting-gale  delighting 

With  her  song,  suspends  our  talk 

With  her,  &c. 

V. 

Oh  how  sweet  at  night  to  dream! 

Charming  sweet  at  night  to  dream! 

On  mossy  pillows,  by  the  trilloes 

Of  a gentle  purling  stream 

Of  a,  &c. 

VI. 

Oh  how  kind  the  country  lass  ! 

Charming  kind  the  country  lass! 

Who,  her  cow  bilking,  leaves  her  milking 

For  a green  gown  on  the  grass 

For,  &c. 

VII. 

Oh  how  sweet  it  is  to  spy ! 

Charming  sweet  it  is  to  spy! 

At  the  conclusion,  her  confusion. 

Blushing  cheeks,  and  downcast  eye 

Blushing,  &c. 

VIII. 

Oh  the  cooling  curds  and  cream! 

Charming  cooling  curds  and  cream! 

When  all  is  over,  she  gives  her  lover. 

Who  on  her  skimming  dish  carves  her  name 

Who  on,  &c. 


No.  125.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


169 


‘ July  30. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — I have  always  been  very 
much  pleased  with  the  sight  of  those  creatures, 
which  being  of  a foreign  growth,  are  brouglit 
into  our  island  for  show.  I may  say,  there  has 
not  been  a tiger,  leopard,, elephant,  or  hyghgeen, 
for  some  years  past,  in  this  nation,  but  I have 
taken  their  particular  dimensions,  and  am  able 
to  give  a very  good  description  of  them.  But  I 
must  own,  I never  had  a greater  curiosity  to 
visit  any  of  these  strangers  than  your  lion.  Ac- 
cordingly I came  yesterday  to  town,  being  able 
to  wait  no  longer  for  fair  weather,  and  made 
what  haste  I could  to  Mr.  Button’s,  who  readily 
conducted  me  to  his  den  of  state.  He  is  really 
a creature  of  as  noble  a presence  as  I have 
seen;  he  has  grandeur  and  good-humour  in  his 
countenance,  which  command  both  our  love  and 
respect;  his  shaggy  mane  and  whiskers  are  pe- 
culiar graces.  In  short,  I do  not  question  but 
he  will  prove  a worthy  supporter  of  the  British 
honour  and  virtue,  especially  when  assisted  by 
the  unicorn.  You  must  think  I would  not  wait 
upon  him  without  a morsel  to  gain  his  favour, 
and  had  provided  what  I hope  would  have 
pleased,  but  was  unluckily  prevented  by  the 
presence  of  a bear,  which  constantly  as  I ap- 
proached with  my  present,  threw  his  eyes  in 
my  way,  and  stared  me  out  of  my  resolution.  I 
must  not  forget  to  tell  you,  my  younger  daugh- 
ter and  your  ward  is  hard  at  work  about  her 
tucker,  having  never  from  her  infancy  laid  aside 
the  modesty-piece.  I am,  venerable  Nestor, 
your  friend  and  servant,  P.  N. 

‘ I was  a little  surprised,  having  read  some 
of  your  lion’s  roarings,  that  a creature  of  such 
eloquence  should  want  a tongue ; but  he  has 
other  qualifications  which  make  good  that  defi- 
ciency.’ O" 


No.  125.]  Tuesday^  August  4,  1713. 

Nunc  formosissimus  annus.  Virg.  Eel.  iii.  57. 

Now  the  gay  year  in  all  her  charms  is  drest. 

Men  of  my  age  receive  a greater  pleasure 
from  fine  weather  than  from  any  other  sensual 
enjoyment  of  life.  In  spite  of  the  auxiliary  bot- 
tle, or  any  artificial  heat,  we  are  apt  to  droop 
under  a gloomy  sky;  and  taste  no  luxury  like 
a blue  firmament  and  sunshine.  I have  often, 
in  a splenetic  fit,  wished  myself  a dormouse 
during  the  winter ; and  I never  see  one  of  those 
snug  animals,  wrapt  up  close  in  his  fur,  and 
compactly  happy  in  himself,  but  I contemplate 
him  with  envy  beneath  the  dignity  of  a philoso- 
pher. If  the  art  of  flying  were  brought  to  per- 
fection, the  use  that  I should  make  of  it  would 
be  to  attend  the  sun  round  the  world,  and  pur- 
sue the  spring  through  every  sign  of  the  zodiac. 
This  love  of  warmth  makes  my  heart  glad  at 
the  return  of  the  spring.  How  amazing  is  the 
change  in  the  face  of  nature ; when  the  earth, 
from  being  bound  with  frost,  or  covered  with 
snow,  begins  to  put  forth  her  plants  and  flow- 
ers, to  be  clothed  with  green,  diversified  with 
ten  thousand  various  dyes  ; and  to  exhale  such 
fresh  and  charming  odours,  as  fill  every  living 
creature  with  delight ! 


Full  of  thoughts  like  these,  I make  it  a rule 
to  lose  as  little  as  I can  of  that  blessed  season ; 
and  accordingly  rise  with  the  sun,  and  wander 
through  the  fields,  throw  myself  on  the  banks 
of  little  rivulets,  or  lose  myself  in  the  woods.  I 
spent  a day  or  two  this  spring  at  a country  gen- 
tleman’s seat,  where  I feasted  my  imagination 
every  morning  with  the  most  luxurious  prospect 
I ever  saw.  I usually  took  my  stand  by  the  wall 
of  an  old  castle  built  upon  a high  hill.  A noble 
river  ran  at  the  foot  of  it,  which  after  being  bro- 
ken by  a heap  of  misshapen  stones,  glided  away 
in  a clear  stream,  and  wandering  through  two 
woods  on  each  side  of  it  in  many  windings, 
shone  here  and  there  at  a great  distance  through 
the  trees.  I could  trace  the  mazes  for  some 
miles,  until  my  eye  was  led  through  two  ridges 
of  hills,  and  terminated  by  a vast  mountain  in 
another  county. 

I hope  the  reader  will  pardon  me  for  taking 
his  eye  from  our  present  subject  of  the  spring, 
by  this  landscape,  since  it  is  at  this  time  of  the 
year  only  that  prospects  excel  in  beauty.  But 
if  the  eye  is  delighted,  the  ear  hath  likewise  its 
proper  entertainment.  The  music  of  the  birds 
at  this  time  of  the  year,  hath  something  in  it  so 
wildly  sweet,  as  makes  me  less  relish  the  most 
elaborate  compositions  of  Italy.  The  vigour 
which  the  warmth  of  the  sun  pours  afresh  into 
their  veins,  prompts  them  to  renew  their  spe- 
cies ; and  thereby  puts  the  male  upon  wooing 
his  mate  with  more  mellow  warblings,  and  to 
swell  his  throat  with  more  violent  modulations. 
It  is  an  amusement  by  no  means  below  the  dig- 
nity of  a rational  soul,  to  observe  the  pretty 
creatures  flying  in  pairs,  to  mark  the  different 
passions  in  their  intrigues,  the  curious  contex- 
ture of  their  nests,  and  their  care  and  tender- 
ness of  their  little  offspring. 

I am  particularly  acquainted  with  a wagtail 
and  his  spouse,  and  made  many  remarks  upon 
the  several  gallantries  he  hourly  used,  before 
the  coy  female  would  consent  to  make  him  hap- 
py. When  I saw  in  how  many  airj’^  rings  he 
was  forced  to  pursue  her ; how  sometimes  she 
tripped  before  him  in  a pretty  pitty-pat  step,  and 
scarce  seemed  to  regard  the  cowering  of  his 
wings,  and  the  many  awkward  and  foppish  con- 
tortions into  which  he  put  his  body  to  do  her 
homage,  it  made  me  reffect  upon  my  own  youth, 
and  the  caprices  of  the  fair  but  fantastic  Tera- 
minta.  Often  have  I wished  that  I understood 
the  language  of  birds,  when  I have  heard  him 
exert  an  eager  chuckle  at  her  leaving  him;  and 
do  not  doubt  but  that  he  muttered  the  same 
vows  and  reproaches  which  I often  have  vented 
against  that  unrelenting  maid. 

The  sight  that  gave  me  the  most  satisfaction 
was  a flight  of  young  birds,  under  the  conduct 
of  the  father,  and  indulgent  directions  and  as- 
sistance of  the  dam.  I took  particular  notice  of 
a beau  goldfinch,  who  was  picking  his  plumes, 
pruning  his  wings,  and  wdth  great  diligence, 
adjusting  all  his  gaudy  garniture.  When  he  had 
equipped  himself  with  great  trimness  and  nice- 
ty, he  stretched  his  painted  neck,  which  seemed 
to  brighten  with  new  glowings,  and  strained 
his  throat  into  many  wild  notes  and  natural 
melody.  He  then  flew  about  the  nest  in  several 
circles  and  windings,  and  invited  his  wife  and 
15 


Y 


J70 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  126. 


children  into  open  air.  It  was  very  entertain, 
ing  to  see  the  trembling  and  the  fluttering  of 
the  little  strangers  at  their  first  appearance  in 
the  world,  and  the  different  care  of  the  male 
and  female  parent,  so  suitable  to  their  several 
sexes.  I could  not  take  my  eye  quickly  from  so 
entertaining  an  object;  nor  could  I help  v.?ish- 
ing,  that  creatures  of  a superior  rank  would  so 
manifest  their  mutual  affection,  and  so  cheer- 
fully concur  in  providing  for  their  offspring. 

I shall  conclude  this  tattle  about  the  spring, 
which  I usually  call  ‘ the  youth  and  health  of 
the  year,’  with  some  verses  which  I transcribe 
from  a manuscript  poem  upon  hunting,  ff’he 
author  gives  directions,  that  hounds  should 
breed  in  the  spring,  whence  he  takes  occasion, 
after  the  manner  of  the  ancients,  to  make  a di- 
gression in  praise  of  that  season.  The  verses 
here  subjoined,  are  not  all  upon  that  subject ; 
but  the  transitions  slide  so  easily  into  one  an- 
other, that  I knew  not  how  to  leave  off  until  I 
had  writ  out  the  whole  digression. 

In  spring  let  loose  thy  males.  Then  all  things  prove 
The  stings  of  pleasure,  and  the  panss  of  love  : 

Ethereal  Jove  then  glads,  with  genial  showers, 

Earth's  mighty  womb,  and  strews  her  lap  with  flow’rs  ; 
Hence  juices  mount,  and  buds,  embolden’d,  try 
]\Iore  kindly  breezes,  and  a softer  sky  ; 

Kind  Venus  revels.  Hark  ! on  ev’ry  botigh. 

In  lulling  strains  the  feather’d  warblers  woo. 

Fell  tigers  soften  in  th’  infectious  flames. 

And  lions  fawning,  court  their  brinded  dames: 

Great  love  pervades  the  deep  ; to  please  his  mate, 

The  wliale,  in  gambols  moves  his  monstrous  weight ; 
Heav’d  by  his  wayward  mirth  old  Ocean  roars, 

And  scatter'd  navies  bulge  on  distant  shores. 

All  nature  smiles ; Come  now,  nor  fear,  my  love. 

To  taste  the  odours  of  the  woodbine  grove. 

To  pass  the  evening  glooms  in  harmless  play, 

And  sweetly  swearing,  languish  life  away. 

An  altar  bound  with  recent  flowers,  I rear 
To  thee,  best  season  of  the  various  year  : 

All  hail!  such  days  in  beauteous  order  ran. 

So  soft,  so  sweet,  when  first  the  world  began  ; 

In  Eden’s  bovv’rs,  whan  man’s  great  sire  assign’d 
The  names  and  natures  of  the  brutal  kind. 

Then  lamb  and  lion  friendly  walk’d  their  round. 

And  hares,  undaunted,  licked  the  fondling  hound  ; 

Wond  rous  to  tell ! but  when  with  luckless  hand. 

Our  daring  mother  broke  the  sole  command. 

Then  want  and  envy  brought  their  meagre  train, 

Then  wrath  came  down,  and  death  had  leave  to  reign : 
Hence  foxes  earth’d  and  wolves  abhorr’d  the  day. 

And  hungry  churls  ensnar’d  the  nightly  prey. 

Rude  arts  at  first ; but  witty  want  refin’d 

The  huntsman’s  wiles,  and  famine  form'd  the  mind. 

Bold  Nimrod  first  the  lion’s  trophies  w'ore. 

The  panther  bound,  and  lanc’d  the  bristling  boar  ; 

He  taught  to  turn  the  hare,  to  bay  the  deer, 

And  wheel  the  courser  in  his  mad  career. 

Ah  I had  he  there  restrain’d  his  tyrant  hand  ! 

Let  me  ye  pow'rs,  a humbler  wreath  demand  ; 

No  pomps  I ask.  which  crowns  and  sceptres  yield ; 

Nor  dangerous  laurels  in  the  dusty  field; 

Fast  by  the  forest,  and  the  limpid  spring. 

Give  me  the  warfare  of  the  woods  to  sing. 

To  breed  my  whelps,  and  healthful  press  the  game, 

A mean,  inglorious,  but  a guiltless  name. 


No.  126.]  Wednesday,  August  5,  1713. 

Homo  sum,  hiimani  nihil  a me  alienum  puto. 

Ter.  Heaut.  Act.  i.  Sc.  1. 

I am  a man,  and  have  a fellow-feeling  of  every  thing 
belonging  to  man. 

If  we  consider  the  whole  scope  of  the  crea- 
tion that  lies  within  our  view,  the  moral  and 


intellectual,  as  well  as  the  natural  and  corpo- 
real, we  shall  perceive  throughout,  a certain 
correspondence  of  the  parts,  a similitude  of 
operation,  and  unity  of  design,  which  plainly 
demonstrate  the  universe  to  be  the  work  of  one 
infinitely  good  and  wise  being;  and  that  the 
system  of  thinking  beings  is  actuated  by  laws 
derived  from  the  same  divine  power  which  or- 
dained those  by  which  the  corporeal  system  is 
upheld. 

From  the  contemplation  of  the  order,  motion, 
and  cohesion  of  natural  bodies,  philosophers  are 
now  agreed,  that  there  is  a mutual  attraction 
between  the  most  distant  parts  at  least  of  this 
solar  system.  All  those  bodies  that  revolve 
round  the  sun  are  drawn  towards  each  other, 
and  towards  the  sun,  by  some  secret,  uniform, 
and  never-ceasing  principle.  Hence  it  is,  that 
the  earth  (as  well  as  the  other  planets)  without 
flying  off  in  a tangent  line,  constantly  rolls 
about  the  sun,  and  the  moon  about  the  earth, 
without  deserting  her  companion  in  so  many 
thousand  years.  And  as  the  larger  systems  of 
the  universe  are  held  together  by  this  cause,  so 
likewise  the  particular  globes  derive  their  co- 
hesion and  consistence  from  it. 
j Now  if  we  carry  our  thoughts  from  the  cor- 
j poreal  to  the  moral  world,  w'e  may  observe  in 
I the  spirits  or  minds  of  men,  a like  principle  of 
attraction,  whereby  they  are  drawn  together  in 
communities,  clubs,  families,  friendships,  and 
all  the  various  species  of  society.  As  in  bodies, 
where  the  quantity  is  the  same,  the  attraction 
is  strongest  between  those  which  are  placed 
nearest  to  each  other  ; so  it  is  likewise  in  the 
minds  of  men,  cceteris  paribus,  between  those 
which  are  most  nearly  related.  Bodies  that  are 
placed  at  the  distance  of  many  millions  of 
miles,  may  nevertheless  attract  and  constantly 
operate  on  each  other,  although  this  action  do 
not  show  itself  by  a union  or  approach  of  those 
distant  bodies  so  long  as  they  are  withheld  by 
the  contrary  forces  of  other  bodies,  which,  at 
the  same  time,  attract  them  different  ways  ; but 
would,  on  the  supposed  removal  of  all  other  bo- 
dies, mutually  approach  and  unite  with  each 
other.  The  like  holds  with  regard  to  the  hu- 
man soul,  whose  affection  towards  the  indivi- 
duals of  the  same  species,  who  are  distantly 
related  to  it,  is  rendered  inconspicuous  by  its 
more  powerful  attraction  towards  those  who 
have  a nearer  relation  to  it.  But  as  those  are 
removed,  the  tendency  which  before  lay  con- 
cealed, doth  gradually  disclose  itself. 

A man  who  has  no  family  is  more  strongly 
attracted  towards  his  friends  and  neighbours; 
and  if  absent  from  these,  he  naturally  falls  into 
an  acquaintance  with  those  of  his  own  city  or 
country  who  chance  to  be  in  the  same  place. 
Two  Englishmen  meeting  at  Rome  or  Constan- 
tinople, soon  run  into  a familiarity.  And  in 
China  or  Japan,  Europeans  would  think  their 
being  so,  a good  reason  for  their  uniting  in  par- 
ticular converse.  Farther,  in  case  we  suppose 
ourselves  translated  into  Jupiter  or  Saturn,  and 
there  to  meet  a Chinese,  or  other  more  distant 
native  of  our  own  planet,  we  should  look  on  him 
as  a near  relation,  and  readily  commence  a 
friendship  with  him.  These  are  natural  reflec- 
tions, and  such  as  may  convince  us  that  we  are 


No.  127.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


171 


linked  by  an  imperceptible  chain  to  every  indi- 
vidual of  the  human  race. 

The  several  great  bodies  which  compose  the 
solar  system  are  kept  from  joining  together  at 
the  common  centre  of  gravity  by  the  rectilinear 
motions  the  author  of  nature  has  impressed  on 
each  of  them ; which,  concurring  with  the  at- 
tractive principle,  form  their  respective  orbits 
round  the  sun  ; upon  the  ceasing  of  which  mo- 
tions, the  general  law  of  gravitation  that  is  now 
thwarted,  would  show  itself  by  drawing  them 
all  into  one  mass.  After  the  same  manner,  in 
the  parallel  case  of  society,  private  passions 
and  motions  of  the  soul  do  often  obstruct  the 
operation  of  that  benevolent  uniting  instinct 
implanted  in  human  nature ; which  notwith- 
standing doth  still  exert,  and  will  not  fail  to 
show  itself  when  those  obstructions  are  taken 
away. 

The  mutual  gravitation  of  bodies  cannot  be 
explained  any  other  way  than  by  resolving  it 
into  the  immediate  operation  of  God,  who  never 
ceases  to  dispose  and  actuate  his  creatures  in  a 
manner  suitable  to  their  respective  beings.  So 
neither  can  that  reciprocal  attraction  in  the 
minds  of  men  be  accounted  for  by  any  other 
cause.  It  is  not  the  result  of  education,  law, 
or  fashion  ; but  is  a principle  originally  ingraft- 
ed in  the  very  first  formation  of  the  soul  by  the 
author  of  our  nature. 

And  as  the  attractive  power  in  bodies  is  the 
most  universal  principle  which  produceth  innu- 
merable effects,  and  is  a key  to  explain  the 
various  phaenomena  of  nature ; so  the  corres- 
ponding social  appetite  in  human  souls  is  the 
great  spring  and  source  of  moral  actions.  This 
it  is  that  inclines  each  individual  to  an  inter- 
course with  his  species,  and  models  every  one 
to  that  behaviour  which  best  suits  with  the 
common  well-being.  Hence  that  sympathy  in 
our  nature,  whereby  we  feel  the  pains  and  joys 
of  our  fellow-creatures.  Hence  that  prevalent 
love  in  parents  towards  their  children,  which  is 
neither  founded  on  the  merit  of  the  object,  nor 
yet  on  self-interest.  It  is  this  that  makes  us 
inquisitive  concerning  the  affairs  of  distant 
nations,  which  can  have  no  influence  on  our 
own.  It  is  this  that  extends  our  care  to  future 
generations,  and  excites  us  to  acts  of  beneficence 
towards  those  who  are  not  yet  in  being,  and 
consequently  from  whom  we  can  expect  no 
recompense.  In  a word,  hence  arises  that  dif- 
fusive sense  of  humanity  so  unaccountable  to 
the  selfish  man  who  is  untouched  with  it,  and 
is  indeed  a sort  of  monster,  or  anomalous  pro- 
duction. 

These  thoughts  do  naturally  suggest  the  fol- 
lowing particulars.  First,  that  as  social  incli- 
nations are  absolutely  necessary  to  the  well- 
being of  the  world,  it  is  the  duty  and  interest 
of  each  individual  to  cherish,  and  improve  them 
to  the  benefit  of  mankind  ; the  duty,  because  it 
is  agreeable  to  the  intention  of  the  author  of 
our  being,  who  aims  at  the  common  good  of  his 
creatures,  and  as  an  indication  of  his  will,  hath 
implanted  the  seeds  of  mutual  benevolence  in 
our  souls ; the  interest,  because  the  good  of  the 
whole  is  inseparable  from  that  of  the  parts ; in 
promoting,  therefore,  the  common  good,  every 
one  doth  at  the  same  time  promote  his  own  pri- 


vate interest.  Another  observation  I shall  draw 
from  the  premises  is,  that  it  makes  a signa. 
proof  of  the  divinity  of  the  Christian  religion, 
that  the  main  duty  which  it  inculcates  above  ali 
others  is  charity.  Different  maxims  and  pre- 
cepts  have  distinguished  the  different  sects  of 
philosophy  and  religion  ; our  Lord’s  peculiar 
precept  is,  ‘ Love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself.  By 
this  shall  all  men  know  that  you  are  my  dis- 
ciples, if  you  love  one  another.’ 

I will  not  say,  that  what  is  a most  shining 
proof  of  our  religion,  is  not  often  a reproach  to 
its  professors : but  this  I think  very  plain,  that 
whether  we  regard  the  analogy  of  nature,  as  it 
appears  in  the  mutual  attraction  or  gravitations 
of  the  mundane  system,  in  the  general  frame 
and  constitution  of  the  human  soul ; or  lastly, 
in  the  ends  and  aptnesses  which  are  discover, 
able  in  all  parts  of  the  visible  and  intellectual 
world ; we  shall  not  doubt  but  the  precept, 
which  is  the  characteristic  of  our  religion,  came 
from  the  author  of  nature.  Some  of  our  mo- 
dern free-thinkers  would  indeed  insinuate  the 
Christian  morals  to  be  defective,  because,  say 
they,  there  is  no  mention  made  in  the  gospel  of 
the  virtue  of  friendship.  These  sagacious  men 
(if  I may  be  allowed  the  use  of  that  vulgar 
saying)  ‘ cannot  see  the  wood  for  trees.’  That 
a religion,  whereof  the  main  drift  is  to  inspire 
its  professors  with  the  most  noble  and  disinter- 
ested spirit  of  love,  charity,  and  beneficence,  to 
all  mankind  ; or,  in  other  words,  with  a friend- 
ship to  every  individual  man  ; should  be  taxed 
with  the  want  of  that  very  virtue,  is  surely  a 
glaring  evidence  of  the  blindness  and  prejudice 
of  its  adversaries. 


No.  127.]  Thursday,  August  6,  1713. 

Lucit  amabiliter 

He  sported  agreeably. 

An  agreeable  young  gentleman,  that  has  a 
talent  for  poetry,  and  does  me  the  favour  to  en- 
tertain me  with  his  performances  after  my  more 
serious  studies,  read  me  yesterday  the  following 
translation.  In  this  town,  where  there  are  so 
many  women  of  prostituted  charms,  I am  very 
glad  when  I gain  so  much  time  of  reflection 
from  a youth  of  a gay  turn,  as  is  taken  up  in 
any  composition,  though  the  piece  he  writes  is 
not  foreign  to  that  of  his  natural  inclination. 
For  it  is  a great  step  towards  gaining  upon  the 
passions,  that  there  is  a delicacy  in  the  choice 
of  their  object ; and  to  turn  the  imaginations 
towards  a bride,  rather  than  a mistress,  is  get- 
ting  a great  way  towards  being  in  the  interests 
of  virtue.  It  is  a hopeless  manner  of  reclaim- 
ing youth,  which  has  been  practised  by  some 
moralists,  to  declaim  against  pleasure  in  gene- 
ral.  No  ; the  way  is,  to  show  that  the  pleasur- 
able course  is  that  which  is  limited  and  governed 
by  reason.  In  this  case,  virtue  is  upon  eo;^^ 
terms  with  vice,  and  has,  with  all  the  sam' 
dulgences  of  desire,  the  advantage  of  sa^^.V 
honour  and  reputation.  I have,  for  thi^ 
often  thought  of  exercising  my  pupiFi  ^ wlmm 
I have  several  of  admirable  talents,  ape^  writing- 
little  poems,  or  epigrams,  which  in ' I 


172 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  128. 


would  entitle,  The  Seeing  Cupid.  These  compo- 
sitions should  be  written  on  the  little  advances 
made  towards  a young  lady  of  the  strictest 
virtue,  and  all  the  circumstances  alluded  to  in 
them,  should  have  something  that  might  please 
her  mind  in  its  purest  innocence,  as  well  as  ce- 
lebrate her  person  in  its  highest  beauty.  This 
work  would  instruct  a woman  to  be  a good  wife, 
all  the  while  it  is  a wooing  her  to  be  a bride. 
Imagination  and  reason  should  go  hand  in  hand 
in  a generous  amour  ; for  when  it  is  otherwise, 
real  discontent  and  aversion  in  marriage,  suc- 
ceed the  groundless  and  wild  promise  of  ima- 
gination in  courtship. 

The  Court  of  Venus  from  Claudian,  being  part 
of  the  Epithalamium  on  Honorius  and  Maria. 

In  the  famed  Cyprian  isle  a mountain  stands, 

That  casts  a shadow  into  distant  lands. 

In  vain  access  by  human  feet  is  tried. 

Its  lofty  brow  looks  down  with  noble  pride 
On  bounteous  Nile,  thro’  seven  wide  channels  spread ; 
And  sees  oid  Proteus  in  his  oozy  bed. 

Along  its  sides  no  hoary  frosts  presume 
To  blast  the  myrtle  shrubs,  or  nip  the  bloom, 

The  winds  with  caution  sweep  the  rising  flowers. 
While  balmy  dew's  descend,  and  vernal  showers. 

The  ruling  orbs  no  wintry  horrors  bring, 

Fi.\’d  in  th’  indulgence  of  eternal  spring. 

Unfading  sweets  in  purple  scenes  appear, 

And  genial  breezes  soften  all  the  year. 

The  nice,  luxurious  soul,  uncloyed  may  rove. 

From  pleasures  still  to  circling  pleasures  move  ; 

For  endless  beauty  kindles  endless  love. 

The  mountain,  when  the  summit  once  you  gain, 
Falls  by  degrees,  and  sinks  into  a plain  ; 

Where  the  pleased  eye  may  flowery  meads  behold. 
Inclosed  with  branching  ore,  and  hedged  with  gold: 
Or  where  large  crops  the  generous  glebe  supplies. 

And  yellow  harvests  unprovoked  arise. 

For  by  mild  zephyrs  fanned,  the  teeming  soil 
Yields  every  grain,  nor  asks  the  peasant’s  toil. 

These  were  the  bribes,  the  price  of  heavenly  charms ; 
These  Cytherea  won  to  Vulcan’s  arms  : 

For  such  a bliss  he  such  a gift  bestowed  ; 

The  rich,  th’  immortal  labours  of  a god. 

A sylvan  scene,  in  solemn  state  displayed, 

Flatters  each  feathered  warbler  with  a shade ; 

But  here  no  bird  its  painted  wings  can  move. 

Unless  elected  by  the  queen  of  love. 

Ere  made  a member  of  this  tuneful  throng. 

She  hears  the  songster,  and  approves  the  song  ; 

The  joyous  victors  hop  from  spray  to  spray ; 

The  vanquished  fly  with  mournful  notes  away. 

Branches  in  branches  twined,  compose  the  grove 
And  shoot,  and  spread,  and  blossom  into  love. 

The  trembling  palms  their  mutual  vows  repeat; 

And  bending  poplars  bending  poplars  meet ; 

The  distant  plantains  seem  lo  press  more  nigh ; 

And  to  the  sighing  alder,  alders  sigh. 

Blue  heavens  above  them  smile;  and  all  below. 

Two  murmuring  streams  in  wild  meanders  flow. 

This  mixed  with  gall ; and  that  like  honey  sweet. 

But  ah!  too  soon  th’  unfriendly  waters  meet! 

Steeped  in  these  springs  (if  verse  belief  can  gain) 

The  darts  of  love  their  double  power  attain  : 

Hence  all  mankind  a bitter  sweet  have  found, 

A painful  pleasure,  and  a grateful  wound. 

Along  the  grassy  banks,  in  bright  array. 

Ten  thousand  little  loves  their  wings  display: 
Q,uivers  and  bows  their  usual  sports  proclaim  ; 

Their  dress,  their  stature,  and  their  looks  the  same ; 
Smiling  in  innocence,  and  ever  young. 

And  tender,  as  the  nymphs  from  whom  they  sprung  ; 
For  Venus  did  but  boast  one  only  son. 

And  rosy  Cupid  was  that  boasted  one  ; 

He,  uncontrolled,  thro’  heaven  extends  his  sway, 

And  gods  and  goddesses  by  turns  obey; 

Or  if  he  stoops  on  earth,  great  princes  burn, 

Sicken  on  thrones,  and  wreathed  with  laurels  mourn. 
Th’  inferior  powers  o’er  hearts  inferior  reign. 

And  pierce  the  rural  fair,  or  homely  swain. 

Here  love’s  imperial  pomp  is  spread  around, 
VolupmouH  liberty  that  knows  no  bound ; 


And  sudden  storms  of  wrath,  which  soon  decline 
And  midnight  watchings  o’er  the  fumes  of  wine  : 
Unartful  tears  and  hectic  looks,  that  show 
With  silent  eloquence  the  lover’s  woe  ; 

Boldness  unfledged,  and  to  stolen  raptures  new. 
Half  trembling  stands,  and  scarcely  dares  pursue: 
Fears  that  delight,  and  anxious  doubts  of  joy. 
Which  check  our  swelling  hopes,  but  not  destroy  , 
And  short-breathed  vows,  forgot  as  soon  as  made. 
On  airy  pinions  flutter  through  the  glade. 

Youth  with  a haughty  look,  and  gay  attire. 

And  rolling  eyes  that  glow  with  soft  desire. 
Shines  forth  exalted  on  a pompous  seat ; 

While  sullen  cares  and  withered  age  retreat. 

Now  from  afar  the  palace  seems  to  blaze. 

And  hither  would  extend  its  golden  rays  ; 

But  by  reflection  of  the  grove  is  seen 
The  gold  still  varied  by  a waving  green. 

For  Mulciber  with  secret  pride  beheld 
How  far  his  skill  all  human  wit  excelled  ; 

And  grown  uxorious,  did  the  work  design 
To  speak  the  artist,  and  the  art  divine. 

Proud  columns  towering  high,  support  the  frame, 
That  hewn  from  hyacinthian  quarries  came. 

The  beams  are  emeralds,  and  yet  scarce  adorn 
The  ruby  walls  on  which  themselves  are  born. 

The  pavement,  rich  with  veins  of  agate  lies; 

And  steps,  with  shining  jasper  slippery,  rise. 

Here  spices  in  parterres  promiscuous  blow. 

Not  from  Arabia’s  fields  more  odours  flow. 

The  wanton  winds  through  groves  of  cassia  play. 
And  steal  the  ripened  fragrances  away  ; 

Here  with  its  load  the  wild  amomum  bends; 
There  cinnamon,  in  rival  sweets,  contends  ; 

A rich  perfume  the  ravished  senses  fills, 

While  from  the  weeping  tree  the  balm  distils. 

At  these  delightful  bowers  arrives  at  last 
The  god  of  love,  a tedious  journey  past ; 

Then  shapes  his  way  to  reach  the  fronting  gate. 
Doubles  his  majesty,  and  walks  in  state. 

It  chanced,  upon  a radiant  throne  reclined, 

Venus  her  golden  tresses  did  unbind  : 

Proud  to  be  thus  employed,  on  either  hand 
Th’  Idalian  sisters,  ranged  in  order  stand. 
Ambrosial  essence  one  bestows  in  showers. 

And  lavishly  wliole  streams  of  nectar  pours  ; 
With  ivory  combs  another’s  dexterous  care 
Or  curls,  or  opens  the  dishevelled  hair; 

A third,  industrious  with  a nicer  eye. 

Instructs  the  ringlets  in  what  form  to  lie. 

Yet  leaves  some  few,  that,  not  so  closely  prest. 
Sport  in  the  wind,  and  wanton  from  the  rest : 
Sweet  negligence  ! by  artful  study  wrought, 

A graceful  error,  and  a lovely  fault, 

The  judgment  of  the  glass  is  here  unknown  ; 
Here  mirrors  are  supplied  by  every  stone. 
Where’er  the  goddess  turns,  her  image  falls. 

And  a new  Veims  dances  on  the  walls. 

Now  while  she  did  her  spotless  form  survey. 
Pleased  with  Love’s  empire,  and  almighty  sway. 
Sire  spied  her  son,  and,  fired  with  eager  joy. 
Sprung  forwards,  and  embraced  the  fav’rite  boy. 


No.  128.]  Friday,  August  7,  1713. 

Delenda  est  Carthago 

Demolish  Carthage. 

It  is  usually  thought,  with  great  justice,  a 
very  impertinent  thing  in  a private  man  to  inter- 
meddle in  matters  which  regard  the  state.  But 
the  memorial  which  is  mentioned  in  the  follow- 
ing letter  is  so  daring,  and  so  apparently  de- 
signed for  the  most  traitorous  purpose  imagina- 
ble, that  I do  not  care  what  misinterpretation  I 
suffer,  when  I expose  it  to  the  resentment  of  all 
men  who  value  their  country,  or  have  any  re- 
gard to  the  l)onour,  safety,  or  glory  of  their 
queen.  It  is  certain  there  is  not  much  danger 
in  delaying  the  demolition  of  Dunkirk  during 
the  life  of  his  present  most  Christian  majesty, 
who  is  renowned  for  the  most  inviolable  regard 


No.  128.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


173 


to  treaties ; but  that  pious  prince  is  aged,  and  in 
case  of  his  decease,  now  the  power  of  Franee 
and  Spain  is  in  the  same  family,  it  is  possible 
an  ambitious  successor  (or  his  ministry  in  a 
king’s  minority)  might  dispute  his  being  bound 
by  the  act  of  his  predecessor  in  so  weighty  a 
particular. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — You  employ  your  important 
moments,  methinks,  a little  too  frivolously,  when 
you  consider  so  often  little  circumstances  of 
dress  and  behaviour,  and  never  make  mention 
of  matters  wherein  you  and  all  your  fellow- 
subjects  in  general  are  eoncerned.  I give  you 
now  an  opportunity,  not  only  of  manifesting 
your  loyalty  to  your  queen,  but  your  affection  to 
your  country,  if  you  treat  an  insolence  done  to 
them  both  with  the  disdain  it  deserves.  The  in- 
closed printed  paper  in  French  and  English  has 
been  handed  about  the  town,  and  given  gratis 
to  passengers  in  the  streets  at  noon-day.  You 
see  the  title  of  it  is,  “ A most  humble  address, 
or  memorial,  presented  to  her  majesty  the  queen 
of  Great  Britain,  by  the  deputy  of  the  magis- 
trates of  Dunkirk.”  The  nauseous  memorialist, 
with  the  most  fulsome  flattery,  tells  the  queen 
of  her  thunder,  and  of  wisdom  and  elemency 
adored  by  all  the  earth  ; at  the  same  time  that 
he  attempts  to  undermine  her  power,  and  escape 
her  wisdom,  by  beseeching  her  to  do  an  act 
which  will  give  a well-grounded  jealousy  to  her 
people.  What  the  syeophant  desires  is.  That 
the  mole  and  dikes  of  Dunkirk  may  be  spared  ; 
and  it  seems  the  sieur  Tugghe,  for  so  the  peti- 
tioner is  called,  was  thunderstruek  by  the  de- 
nunciation (which  he  says)  “ the  lord  viscount 
Bolingbroke  made  to  him.”  That  her  majesty 
did  not  think  to  make  any  alteration  in  the 
dreadful  sentence  she  had  pronounced  against 
the  town.  Mr.  Ironside,  I think  you  would  do 
an  act  worthy  your  general  humanity,  if  you 
would  put  the  sieur  Tugghe  right  in  this  mat- 
ter ; and  let  him  know.  That  her  majesty  has 
pronounced  no  sentence  against  the  town,  but 
his  most  Christian  majesty  has  agreed  that  the 
town  and  harbour  shall  be  demolished. 

‘ That  the  British  nation  expect  the  immedi- 
ate demolition  of  it. 

‘ That  the  very  common  people  know,  that 
within  three  months  after  the  signing  of  the 
peace,  the  works  towards  the  sea,  were  to  be 
demolished ; and,  within  three  months  after  it, 
the  works  towards  the  land. 

‘ That  the  said  peace  was  signed  the  last  of 
March,  O.  S. 

‘ That  the  parliament  has  been  told  from  the 
queen,  that  the  equivalent  for  it  is  in  the  hands 
of  the  French  king. 

‘ That  the  sieur  Tugghe  has  the  impudence 
to  ask  the  queen  to  remit  the  most  material  part 
of  the  artieles  of  peace  between  her  majesty  and 
his  master. 

‘ That  the  British  nation  received  more  da- 
mage in  their  trade  from  the  port  of  Dunkirk, 
^an  from  almost  all  the  ports  of  France,  either 
in  the  ocean,  or  in  the  Mediterranean. 

‘ That  fleets  of  above  thirty  sail  have  come 
together  out  of  Dunkirk,  during  the  late  war, 
and  taken  ships  of  war  as  well  as  merchantmen. 


‘ That  the  pretender  sailed  from  thence  to 
Scotland  ; and  that  it  is  the  only  port  the  French 
have  until  you  come  to  Brest,  for  the  whole 
length  of  St.  George’s  channel,  where  any  con- 
siderable naval  armament  can  be  made. 

‘ That  destroying  the  fortifications  of  Dunkirk 
is  an  inconsiderable  adv'^antage  to  England,  in 
comparison  to  the  advantage  of  destroying  the 
mole,  dikes,  and  harbour;  it  being  the  naval 
force  from  thence  which  only  can  hurt  the  Bri- 
tish nation. 

‘ That  the  British  nation  expect  the  immedi- 
ate demolition  of  Dunkirk. 

‘ That  the  Dutcdi,  who  suffered  equally  wfith 
us  from  those  of  Dunkirk,  were  probably  in- 
duced to  sign  the  treaty  with  France  from  this 
consideration.  That  the  town  and  harbour  of 
Dunkirk  should  be  destroyed. 

‘ That  the  situation  of  Dunkirk  is  such,  as 
that  it  may  always  keep  runners  to  observe  all 
ships  sailing  on  the  Thames  and  Medway. 

‘ That  all  the  suggestions  which  the  sieur 
Tugghe  brings  concerning  the  Dutch,  are  false 
and  scandalous. 

‘ That  whether  it  may  bo  advantageous  to  the 
trade  of  Holland  or  not,  that  Dunkirk  should  be 
demolished ; it  is  necessary  for  the  safety,  ho- 
nour, and  liberty  of  England,  that  it  should 
be  so. 

‘ That  w'hen  Dunkirk  is  demolished,  the  pow- 
er of  France,  on  that  side,  should  it  ever  be 
turned  against  us,  will  be  removed  several  hun- 
dred miles  further  off  of  Great  Britain  than  it 
is  at  present. 

‘ That  after  the  demolition,  there  can  be  no 
considerable  preparation  made  at  sea  by  the 
French  on  all  the  channel,  but  at  Brest  ; and 
that  Great  Britain  being  an  island,  wdiich  can- 
not be  attacked  but  by  a naval  power,  we  may 
esteem  France  effectually  removed,  by  the  de- 
molition, from  Great  Britain,  as  far  as  the  dis- 
tance from  Dunkirk  to  Brest. 

‘ Pray,  Mr.  Ironside,  repeat  this  last  particu- 
lar, and  put  it  in  a different  letter.  That  the  de- 
molition of  Dunkirk  will  remove  France  many 
hundred  miles  farther  off  from  us  ; and  then  re- 
peat again,  That  the  British  nation  expects  the 
demolition  of  Dunkirk. 

‘ I demand  of  you,  as  you  love  and  honour 
your  queen  and  country,  that  you  insert  this 
letter,  or  speak  to  this  purpose,  your  own  way ; 
for  in  this  all  parties  must  agree,  that  however 
bound  in  friendship  one  nation  is  with  another, 
it  is  but  prudent  that  in  case  of  a rupture,  they 
should  be,  if  possible,  upon  equal  terms. 

‘Be  honest,  old  Nestor,  and  say  all  this  ; for 
whatever  half-witted  hot  whigs  may  think,  we 
all  value  our  estates  and  liberties,  and  every 
true  man  of  each  party  must  think  himself  con- 
cerned that  Dunkirk  should  be  demolished. 

‘ It  lies  upon  all  who  have  the  honour  to  be 
in  the  ministry  to  hasten  this  matter,  and  not 
let  the  credulity  of  an  honest,  brave  people  be 
thus  infamously  abused  in  our  open  streets. 

‘ I cannot  go  on  for  indignation ; but  pray 
God  that  our  mercy  to  France  may  not  expose 
us  to  the  mercy  of  France.  Your  humble  ser 
vant, 

‘ ENGLISH  TORY.’ 

15* 


174 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  129. 


No.  129.]  Saturday,  August  8,  1713. 

Animasque  in  vulnere  ponunt. 

Virg.  Georg,  iv.  238. 

And  part  with  life,  only  to  wound  their  foe. 

Anger  is  so  uneasy  a guest  in  the  heart,  that 
he  may  be  said  to  be  born  unhappy  who  is  of 
a rough  and  choleric  disposition.  The  moral- 
ists have  defined  it  to  be  ‘ a desire  of  revenge 
for  some  injury  offered.’  Men  of  hot  and  heady 
tempers  are  eagerly  desirous  of  vengeance,  the 
very  moment,  they  apprehend  themselves  in- 
jured ; whereas  the  cool  and  sedate  watch  pro- 
per opportunities  to  return  grief  for  grief  to 
their  enemy.  By  this  means  it  often  happens 
that  the  choleric  inflict  disproportioned  punish- 
ments upon  slight,  and  sometimes  imaginary 
offences  : but  the  temperately  revengeful  have 
leisure  to  weigh  the  merits  of  the  cause,  and 
thereby  either  to  smother  their  secret  resent- 
ments, or  to  seek  proper  and  adequate  repara- 
tions for  the  damages  they  have  sustained. 
Weak  minds  are  apt  to  speak  well  of  the  man 
of  fury  ; because,  when  the  storm  is  over,  he  is 
full  of  sorrow  and  repentance  ; but  the  truth  is, 
he  is  apt  to  commit  such  ravages  during  his 
madness,  that  when  he  comes  to  himself,  he  be- 
comes tame  then,  for  the  same  reason  that  he 
ran  wild  before,  ‘only  to  give  himself  ease  and 
is  a friend  only  to  himself  in  both  extremities. 
Men  of  this  unhappy  make,  more  frequently 
than  any  others,  expect  that  their  friends  should 
bear  with  their  infirmities.  Their  friends  should 
in  return  desire  them  to  correct  their  infirmi- 
ties. The  common  excuses,  that  they  cannot 
help  it,  that  it  was  soon  over,  that  they  harbour 
no  malice  in  their  hearts,  are  arguments  for 
pardoning  a bull  or  a mastiff ; but  shall  never 
reconcile  me  to  an  intellectual  savage.  Why 
indeed  should  any  one  imagine,  that  persons 
independent  upon  him  should  venture  into  his 
society,  who  hath  not  yet  so  far  subdued  his 
boiling  blood,  but  that  he  is  ready  to  do  some- 
thing the  ne.xt  minute  which  he  can  never  re- 
pair, and  hath  nothing  to  plead  in  his  own 
behalf,  but  that  he  is  apt  to  do  mischief  as  fast 
as  he  can ! Such  a man  may  be  feared,  he  may 
be  pitied  ; he  can  never  be  loved. 

I would  not  hereby  be  so  understood  as  if  I 
meant  to  recommend  slow  and  deliberate  ma- 
lice ; I would  only  observe,  that  men  of  modera- 
tion are  of  a more  amiable  character  than  the 
rash  and  inconsiderate ; but  if  they  do  not  hus- 
band the  talent  that  Heaven  hath  bestowed  upon 
them,  they  are  as  much  more  odious  than  the 
choleric,  as  the  devil  is  more  horrible  than  a 
brute.  It  is  hard  to  say  which  of  the  two,  when 
injured,  is  more  troublesome  to  himself,  or  more 
hurtful  to  his  enemy ; the  one  is  boisterous  and 
gentle  by  fits,  dividing  his  life  between  guilt 
and  repentance,  now  all  tempest,  again  all  sun- 
shine. The  other  hath  a smoother  but  more 
lasting  anguish,  lying  under  a perpetual  gloom  ; 
the  latter  is  a cowardly  man,  the  former  a ge- 
nerous beast.  If  he  may  be  held  unfortunate 
who  cannot  be  sure  but  that  he  may  do  some- 
thing the  next  minute  which  he  shall  lament 
during  his  life  ; what  shall  we  think  of  him  who 
hath  a soul  so  infected  that  he  can  never  be 


1 happy  until  he  hath  made  another  miserable  ! 
j What  wars  may  we  imagine  perpetually  raging 
in  his  breast ! What  dark  stratagems,  un- 
worthy designs,  inhuman  wishes,  dreadful  re- 
solutions ! A snake  curled  in  many  intricate 
mazes,  ready  to  sting  a traveller,  and  to  hiss  him 
in  the  pangs  of  death,  is  no  unfit  emblem  of 
such  an  artful,  unsearchable  projector.  Were 
I to  choose  an  enemy,  whether  should  I wish 
for  one  that  would  stab  me  suddenly,  or  one 
that  would  give  me  an  Italian  poison,  subtle 
and  lingering,  yet  as  certainly  fatal  as  the  stroke 
of  a stiletto?  Let  the  reader  determine  the 
doubt  in  his  own  mind. 

There  is  yet  a third  sort  of  revenge,  if  it  may 
be  called  a third,  which  is  compounded  of  the 
other  two : I mean  the  mistaken  honour  which 
hath  too  often  a place  in  generous  breasts.  Mer 
of  good  education,  though  naturally  choleric, 
restrain  their  wrath  so  far  as  to  seek  convenient 
times  for  vengeance.  The  single  combat  seems 
so  generous  a way  of  ending  controversies,  that 
until  we  have  stricter  laws,  the  number  of  wi- 
dows and  orphans,  and  I wish  I could  not  say 
of  wretched  spirits,  will  be  increased.  Of  all 
the  medals  which  have  been  struck  in  honour 
of  a neighbouring  monarch,  there  is  not  one 
which  can  give  him  so  true  renown  as  that  upon 
the  success  of  his  edicts  for  ‘ abolishing  the  im- 
pious practice  of  duelling.’ 

What  inclined  me  at  present  to  write  upon 
this  subject,  was  the  sight  of  the  following  let- 
ters, which  I can  assure  the  reader  to  be  genuine. 
They  concern  two  noble  names  among  us  ; but 
the  crime  of  which  the  gentlemen  are  guilty 
bears  too  prevalently  the  name  of  honour,  to 
need  an  apology  to  their  relations  for  reviving 
the  mention  of  their  duel.  But  the  dignity  of 
wrath,  and  the  cool  and  deliberate  preparation 
(by  passing  different  climes,  and  waiting  con- 
venient seasons)  for  murdering  each  other, 
when  we  consider  them  as  moved  by  a sense 
of  honour,  must  raise  in  the  reader  as  much 
compassion  as  horror. 

'•A  Monsieur  Monsieur  Sackville. 

‘ I that  am  in  France  hear  how  much  you 
attribute  to  yourself  in  this  time,  that  I have 
given  the  world  leave  to  ring  your  praises  * 

4t***>f**** 

If  you  call  to  memory,  whereas  I gave  you  i 
my  hand  last,  I told  you  I reserved  the  heart 
for  a truer  reconciliation.  Now  be  that  noble 
gentleman  my  love  once  spoke  you,  and  come 
and  do  him  right  that  could  recite  the  trials  you  i 
owe  your  birth  and  country,  were  I not  confi-  I 
dent  your  honour  gives  you  the  same  courage  ] 
to  do  me  right,  that  it  did  to  do  me  wrong.  Be.  I 
master  of  your  own  weapons  and  time;  the  i 
place,  wheresoever,  I will  wait  on  you.  By 
doing  this  you  shall  shorten  revenge,  and  clear  h 
the  idle  opinion  the  world  hath  of  both  our 
worths.  ‘ED.  BRUCE.’ 

‘ A Mons.  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Kinloss.  I 

‘ As  it  shall  be  always  far  from  me  to  seek  a I 
quarrel,  so  will  I always  be  ready  to  meet  with  j 
any  that  desire  to  make  trial  of  my  valour  by  ^ 
so  fair  a course  as  you  require.  A witness  i 


No.  130.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


175 


whereof  yourself  shall  be,  who,  within  a month, 
shall  receive  a strict  account  of  time,  place,  and 
weapon,  where  you  shall  find  me  ready  disposed 
to  give  you  honourable  satisfaction  by  him  that 
shall  conduct  you  thither.  In  the  mean  time 
be  as  secret  of  the  appointment  as  it  seems  you 
are  desirous  of  it.  ED.  SACKVILLE.’ 

‘ A Mons.  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Kinloss. 

‘ I am  ready  at  Tergosa,  a town  in  Zealand, 
to  give  you  that  satisfaction  your  sword  can 
render  you,  accompanied  with  a worthy  gentle- 
man, my  second,  in  degree  a knight  ; and  for 
your  coining  I will  not  limit  you  a peremptory 
day,  but  desire  you  to  make  a definite  and 
speedy  repair  for  your  own  honour,  and  fear  of 
prevention,  until  which  time  you  shall  find  me 
there.  ED.  SACKVILLE.’ 

‘Tergosa,  Aug.  10, 1613.’ 

‘ A Mons.  Monsieur  Sackville. 

‘I  have  received  your  letter  by  your  man, 
and  acknowledge  you  have  dealt  nobly  with  me, 
and  now  I come  with  all  possible  haste  to  meet 
you.  ED.  BRUCE.’ 


No.  130.]  Monday^  August  10,  1713. 

Vacuum  sine  mente  popellum. 

Mus(b  AnglicancB. 

An  empty,  thoughtless  tribe. 

As  the  greatest  part  of  mankind  are  more 
affected  by  things  which  strike  the  senses,  than 
by  e.xcellencies  that  are  to  be  discerned  by  rea- 
son and  thought,  they  form  very  erroneous 
judgments  when  they  compare  the  one  with 
the  other.  An  eminent  instance  of  tiiis  is,  that 
vulgar  notion,  that  men  addicted  to  contempla- 
tion  are  less  useful  members  of  society  than 
those  of  a different  course  of  life.  The  business 
therefore  of  my  present  paper  shall  be  to  com- 
pare the  distinct  merits  of  the  speculative  and 
the  active  parts  of  mankind. 

The  advantages  arising  from  the  labours  of 
generals  and  politicians  are  confined  to  narrow 
tracts  of  the  earth;  and  while  they  promote  the 
interest  of  their  own  country,  they  lessen  or 
obstruct  that  of  other  nations  ; whereas  the  light 
and  knowledge  that  spring  from  speculation 
are  not  limited  to  any  single  spot,  but  equally 
diffused  to  the  benefit  of  the  whole  globe.  Be- 
sides, for  the  most  part,  the  renown  only  of  men 
of  action  is  transmitted  to  distant  posterity, 
their  great  exploits  either  dying  with  them- 
selves, or  soon  after  them  ; whereas  speculative 
men  continue  to  deserve  well  of  the  world  thou- 
sands of  years  after  they  have  left  it.  Their 
merits  are  propagated  with  their  fame,  which 
is  due  to  them,  but  a free  gift  to  those  whose 
beneficence  has  not  outlived  their  persons. 

What  benefit  do  we  receive  from  the  re- 
nowned deeds  of  Caesar  or  Alexander,  that  we 
should  make  them  the  constant  themes  of  our 
praise?  while  the  name  of  Pythagoras  is  more 
sparingly  celebrated,  though  it  be  to  him  that 
we  are  indebted  for  our  trade  and  riches.  This 
may  seem  strange  to  a vulgar  reader,  but  the 


following  reflection  will  make  it  plain.  That 
philosopher  invented  the  forty-seventh  proposi- 
tion  of  the  first  book  of  Euclid,  which  is  the 
foundation  of  trigonometry,  and  consequently 
of  navigation,  upon  which  the  commerce  of 
Great  Britain  depends. 

The  mathematics  are  so  useful  and  ornamen- 
tal to  human  life,  that  the  ingenious  sir  William 
Temple  acknowledges,  in  some  part  of  his  writ- 
ings, all  those  advantages  wliich  distinguish 
polite  nations  from  barbarians  to  be  derived 
from  them.  But  as  these  sciences  cultivate  the 
exterior  parts  of  life,  there  are  others  of  a more 
excellent  nature,  that  endue  the  heart  with 
rudiments  of  virtue,  and  by  opening  our  pros- 
pects,  and  awakening  our  hopes,  produce  ge- 
nerous emotions  and  sublime  sentiments  in  the 
soul. 

The  divine  sages  of  antiquity,  who,  by  trans- 
mitting down  to  us  their  speculations  upon 
good  and  evil,  upon  Providence,  and  the  dig- 
nity and  duration  of  thinking  beings,  have  im- 
printed an  idea  of  moral  excellence  on  the 
minds  of  men,  are  most  eminent  benefactors 
to  human  nature ; and  however  overlooked  in 
the  loud  and  thoughtless  applauses  that  are 
every  day  bestowed  on  the  slaughterers  and 
disturbers  of  mankind,  yet  they  will  never  want 
the  esteem  and  approbation  of  the  wise  and  vir- 
tuous. 

This  apology  in  behalf  of  the  speculative 
part  of  mankind,  who  make  useful  truth  the 
end  of  their  being,  and  its  acquisition  the  bu- 
siness as  well  as  entertainment  of  their  lives, 
seems  not  improper,  in  order  to  rectify  the  mis- 
take of  those  who  measure  merit  by  noise  and 
outward  appearance,  and  are  too  apt  to  depre- 
ciate and  ridicule  men  of  thought  and  retire- 
ment. The  raillery  and  reproaches  which  are 
thrown  on  that  species  by  those  who  abound  in 
the  animal  life,  would  incline  one  to  think  the 
world  not  sufficiently  convinced  that  whatsoever 
is  good  or  excellent  proceeds  from  reason  and 
reflection. 

Even  those  who  only  regard  truth  as  such, 
without  communicating  their  thoughts,  or  ap- 
plying them  to  practice,  will  seem  worthy  mem- 
bers of  the  commonwealth,  if  we  compare  the 
innocence  and  tranquillity  with  which  they 
pass  their  lives,  with  the  fraud  and  imperti- 
nence of  other  men.  But  the  number  of  those 
who,  by  abstracted  thoughts,  become  useless, 
is  inconsiderable  in  respect  of  them  who  are 
hurtful  to  mankind  by  an  active  and  restless 
disposition. 

As  in  the  distribution  of  other  things,  so  in 
this  the  wisdom  of  Providence  appears,  that 
men  addicted  to  intellectual  pursuits,  bear  a 
small  proportion  to  those  who  rejoice  in  exert- 
ing the  force  and  activity  of  their  corporeal 
organs  ; for  operations  of  the  latter  sort  are 
limited  to  a narrow  extent  of  time  and  place, 
whereas,  those  of  the  mind  are  permanent  and 
universal.  Plato  and  Euclid  enjoy  a sort  of 
immortality  upon  earth,  and  at  this  day  read 
lectures  to  the  world. 

But  if  to  inform  the  understanding,  and  re 
gulate  the  will,  is  the  most  lasting  and  diffusive 
benefit,  there  will  not  be  found  so  useful  and 
excellent  an  institution  as  that  of  the  Christian 


176 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


priesthood,  which  is  now  become  the  scorn  of  i 
fools.  That  a numerous  order  of  men  should 
be  consecrated  to  the  study  of  the  most  sublime 
and  beneficial  truths,  with  a desig^n  to  propagate 
them  by  their  discourses  and  writings,  to  in- 
form their  fellow-creatures  of  the  being  and 
attributes  of  the  Deity,  to  possess  their  minds 
with  the  sense  of  a future  state,  and  not  only 
to  explain  the  nature  of  every  virtue  and  mo- 
ral duty,  but  likewise  to  persuade  mankind  to 
the  practice  of  them  by  the  most  powerful  and 
engaging  motives,  is  a thing  so  excellent  and 
necessary  to  the  well-being  of  the  world,  that 
nobody  but  a modern  free-thinker  could  have 
the  forehead  or  folly  to  turn  it  into  ridicule. 

The  light  in  which  these  points  should  be 
exposed  to  the  view  of  one  who  is  prejudiced 
against  the  names,  religion,  church,  priest,  and 
the  like,  is  to  consider  the  clergy  as  so  many 
philosophers,  the  churches  as  schools,  and  their 
sermons  as  lectures,  for  the  information  and 
improvement  of  the  audience.  How  would  the 
heart  of  Socrates  or  Tully  have  rejoiced,  had 
they  lived  in  a nation  where  the  law  had  made 
provision  for  philosophers  to  read  lectures  of 
morality  and  theology  every  seventh  day,  in 
several  thousands  of  schools  erected  at  the  pub- 
lic charge  throughout  the  whole  country  ; at 
which  lectures  all  ranks  and  sexes,  without  dis- 
tinction, were  obliged  to  be  present  for  their 
general  improvement  ! And  what  wicked 
wretches  would  they  think  those  men  who 
would  endeavour  to  defeat  the  purpose  of  so 
divine  an  institution  ? 

It  is  indeed  usual  with  that  low  tribe  of  wri- 
ters, to  pretend  their  design  is  only  to  reform 
the  church,  and  expose  the  vices,  and  not  the 
order  of  the  clergy.  The  author  of  a pamphlet 
printed  the  other  day,  (which,  without  my  men- 
tioning the  title,  will,  on  this  occasion,  occur  to 
the  thoughts  of  those  w'ho  have  read  it)  hopes 
to  insinuate  by  that  artifice  what  he  is  afraid 
or  ashamed  openly  to  maintain.  But  there  are 
two  points  which  clearly  show  w’hat  it  is  he 
aims  at.  The  first  is,  that  he  constantly  uses 
the  word  priests  in  such  a manner,  as  that  his 
reader  cannot  but  observe  he  means  to  throw 
an  odium  on  the  clergy  of  the  church  of  Eng- 
land, from  their  being  called  by  a name  which 
they  enjoy  in  common  with  heathens  and  im- 
postors. The  other  is,  his  raking  together  and 
exaggerating,  with  great  spleen  and  industry, 
all  those  actions  of  churchmen,  which,  either 
by  their  own  illness,  or  the  bad  light  in  which 
he  places  them,  tend  to  give  men  an  ill  impres- 
sion of  the  dispensers  of  the  gospel;  all  which 
he  pathetically  addresses  to  the  consideration 
of  his  wise  and  honest  countrymen  of  the  laity. 
The  sophistry  and  ill-breeding  of  these  pro- 
ceedings are  so  obvious  to  men  who  have  any 
pretence  to  that  character,  that  I need  say  no 
more  either  of  them  or  their  author. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  earth  may  properly 
be  ranged  under  the  two  general  heads  of  gen- 
tlemen and  mechanics.  This  distinction  arises 
from  the  different  occupations  wherein  they 
exert  themselves.  The  former  of  these  species 
is  universally  acknowledged  to  be  more  honour- 
able than  the  other,  who  are  looked  upon  as  a 
base  and  inferior  order  of  men.  But  if  the 


[No.  130. 

world  is  in  the  right  in  this  natural  judgment, 
it  is  not  generally  so  in  the  distribution  of  par- 
ticular persons  under  their  respective  denomi- 
nations.  It  is  a clear  settled  point,  that  the 
gentleman  should  be  preferred  to  the  mechanic. 
But  who  is  the  gentleman,  and  who  the  mecha- 
nic, wants  to  be  explained. 

The  philosophers  distinguish  two  parts  in 
human  nature ; the  rational,  and  the  animal. 
Now,  if  we  attend  to  the  reason  of  the  thing, 
we  shall  find  it  difficult  to  assign  a more  just 
and  adequate  idea  of  these  distinct  species,  than 
by  defining  the  gentleman  to  be  him  whose  oc- 
cupation lies  in  the  exertion  of  his  rational  fa- 
culties ; and  the  mechanic,  him  who  is  employed 
in  the  use  of  his  animal  parts,  or  the  organic 
parts  of  his  body. 

The  concurring  assent  of  the  world,  in  pre- 
ferring gentlemen  to  mechanics,  seems  founded 
in  that  preference  which  the  rational  part  of 
our  nature  is  entitled  to  above  the  animal ; when 
we  consider  it  in  itself,  as  it  is  the  seat  of  wis- 
dom and  understanding,  as  it  is  pure  and  im- 
mortal, and  as  it  is  that  which,  of  all  the  known 
works  of  the  creation,  bears  the  brightest  im- 
press of  the  Deity. 

It  claims  the  same  dignity  and  pre-eminence, 
if  we  consider  it  with  respect  to  its  object.  Me- 
chanical motives  or  operations  are  confined  to  a 
narrow  circle  of  low  and  little  things  : whereas, 
reason  inquires  concerning  the  nature  of  intel- 
lectual beings,  the  great  Author  of  our  existence, 
its  end,  and  the  proper  methods  of  attaining  it. 
Or,  in  case  that  noble  faculty  submit  itself  to 
nearer  objects,  it  is  not,  like  the  organic  powers, 
confined  to  a slow  and  painful  manner  of  action ; 
but  shifts  the  scenes,  and  applies  itself  to  the 
most  distant  objects  with  incredible  ease  and 
despatch.  Neither  are  the  operations  of  the 
mind,  like  those  of  the  hands,  limited  to  one 
individual  object,  but  at  once  extended  to  a 
whole  species. 

And  as  we  have  shown  the  intellectual  powers 
to  be  nobler  than  those  of  motion,  both  in  their 
own  nature,  and  in  regard  to  their  object,  the 
same  will  still  hold  if  we  consider  their  of- 
fice. It  is  the  province  of  the  former  to  preside 
and  direct;  of  the  latter,  to  execute  and  obey. 
Those  who  apply  their  hands  to  the  materials, 
appear  the  immediate  builders  of  an  edifice ; 
but  the  beauty  and  proportion  of  it  is  owing  to 
the  architect,  who  designed  the  plan  in  his  clo- 
set. And  in  like  manner,  whatever  there  is 
either  in  art  or  nature  of  use  or  regularity,  will 
be  found  to  proceed  from  the  superior  principle 
of  reason  and  understanding.  These  reflec- 
tions, how  obvious  soever,  do  nevertheless,  seem 
not  sufficiently  attended  to  by  those  who,  being 
at  great  pains  to  improve  the  figure  and  motions 
of  the  body,  neglect  the  culture  of  the  mind. 

From  the  premises  it  follows,  that  a man  may 
descend  from  an  ancient  family,  wear  fine 
clothes,  and  be  master  of  what  is  commonly 
called  good-breeding,  and  yet  not  merit  the 
name  of  gentleman.  All  those  whose  principal 
accomplishments  consist  in  the  exertion  of  the 
mechanic  powers,  whether  the  organ  made  use 
of  be  the  eye,  the  muscles  of  the  face,  the  fingers, 
feet,  or  any  other  part,  are  in  the  eye  of  reason 
to  be  esteemed  mechanics. 


No.  131.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


177 


I do  therefore,  by  these  presents,  declare,  that 
all  men  and  women,  by  what  title  soever  dis- 
ting-uished,  whose  occupation  it  is  either  to  ogle 
with  tlie  eye,  flirt  with  the  fan,  dress,  cring-e, 
adjust  the  muscles  of  the  face,  or  other  parts  of 
the  body,  are  degraded  from  the  rank  of  gentry  ; 
which  is  from  this  time  forward  appropriated 
to  those  who  employ  the  talents  of  the  mind  in 
the  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  practice  of  virtue, 
and  are  content  to  take  their  places  as  they  are 
distinguished  by  moral  and  intellectual  accom- 
plishments. 

■ The  rest  of  the  human  species  come  under 
the  appellation  of  mechanics,  with  this  differ- 
ence, that  the  professed  mechanics,  who,  not 
pretending  to  be  gentlemen,  contain  themselves 
within  their  proper  sphere,  are  necessary  to  the 
well-being  of  mankind,  and  consequently  should 
be  more  respected  in  a well-regulated  common- 
wealth, than  those  mechanics  who  make  a merit 
of  being  useless. 

Having  hitherto  considered  the  human  species 
as  distinguished  into  gentlemen  and  mechanics, 

I come  now  to  treat  of  the  machines  ; a sort  of 
beings  that  have  the  outside  or  appearance  of 
men,  without  being  really  such.  The  free- 
thinkers have  often  declared  to  the  world,  that 
they  are  not  actuated  by  any  incorporeal  being 
or  spirit ; but  that  all  the  operations  they  exert, 
proceed  from  the  collision  of  certain  corpuscles, 
endued  with  proper  figures  and  motions.  It  is 
now  a considerable  time  that  I have  been  their 
proselyte  in  this  point.  I am  even  so  far  con- 
vinced that  they  are  in  the  right,  that  I shall 
attempt  proving  it  to  others. 

The  mind  being  itself  invisible,  there  is  no 
other  way  to  discern  its  existence,  than  by  the 
effects  which  it  produceth.  Where  design, 
order,  and  symmetry,  are  visible  in  the  effects, 
we  conclude  the  cause  to  be  an  intelligent  being  ; 
but  where  nothing  of  these  can  be  found,  we 
ascribe  the  effect  to  hazard,  necessity,  or  the 
like.  Now  I appeal  to  any  one  who  is  conver- 
sant in  the  modern  productions  of  our  free- 
thinkers, if  they  do  not  look  rather  like  effects 
of  chance,  or  at  best  of  mechanism,  than  of  a 
thinking  principle,  and  consequently,  whether 
the  authors  of  those  rhapsodies  are  not  mere 
machines. 

The  same  point  is  likewise  evident  from  their 
own  assertion ; it  being  plain  that  no  one  could 
mistake  thought  for  motion,  who  knew  what  : 
thought  was.  For  these  reasons,  I do  hereby  < 
give  it  in  charge  to  all  Christians,  that  here-  i 
after  they  speak  of  free-thinkers  in  the  neuter  i 
gender,  using  the  term  it  for  him.  They  are  to  j 
be  considered  as  automata,  made  up  of  bones 
and  muscles,  nerves,  arteries,  and  animal  spi-  1 
rits ; not  so  innocent,  indeed,  but  as  destitute  of  I 
thought  and  reason,  as  those  little  machines  ^ 
which  the  excellent  author  from  whom  I take  1 
the  motto  of  this  paper,  has  so  elegantly  de-  ( 
scribed.  i 


No.  131.]  Tuesday.,  August  11,  1713. 

Iter  pigrorum  quasi  sepes  spinarum. 

Ex.  Latin.  Prov. 

The  way  of  the  slothful  man  is  a hedge  of  thorns. 

Proverbs,  xv.  19. 


t There  are  two  sorts  of  persons  within  the 
- consideration  of  my  frontispiece ; the  first  are 
) the  mighty  body  of  lingerers,  persons  who  do 
, not  indeed  employ  tlieir  time  criminally,  but  are 
such  pretty  innocents,  who,  as  the  poet  says, 

> waste  away 

1 In  gentle  inactivity  the  day. 

I The  others  being  something  more  vivacious, 
, are  such  as  do  not  only  omit  to  spend  their  time 
! well,  but  are  in  the  constant  pursuit  of  criminal 
■ satisfactions.  Whatever  the  divine  may  think, 
the  case  of  the  first  seems  to  be  the  most  de- 
' plorable,  as  the  habit  of  sloth  is  more  invincible 
than  that  of  vice.  The  first  is  preferred,  even 
. when  the  man  is  fully  possessed  of  himself,  and 
submitted  to  with  constant  deliberation  and  cool 
thought.  The  other  we  are  driven  into  gene- 
rally through  the  heat  of  wine,  or  youth,  which 
Mr.  Hobbes  calls  a natural  drunkenness;  and 
therefore  consequently  are  more  excusable  for 
any  errors  committed  during  the  deprivation  or 
suspension  of  our  reason,  than  in  the  possession 
of  it.  The  irregular  starts  of  vicious  appetites 
are  in  time  destroyed  by  the  gratification  of 
them ; but  a well-ordered  life  of  sloth  receives 
daily  strength  from  its  continuance.  ‘ I went 
(says  Solomon)  b}'^  the  field  of  the  slothful,  and 
the  vineyard  of  the  man  void  of  understanding; 
and  lo ! it  was  all  grown  over  with  thorns,  and 
nettles  had  covered  the  face  thereof,  and  the 
stone  wall  thereof  was  broken  down.’  To  raise 
the  image  of  this  person,  the  same  author  adds, 

‘ The  slothful  man  hideth  his  hand  in  his  bo- 
som, and  it  grieveth  him  to  bring  it  again  to  his 
mouth.’  If  there  were  no  future  account  ex- 
pected of  spending  our  time,  the  immediate  in- 
convenience that  attends  a life  of  idleness  should 
of  itself  be  persuasion  enough  to  the  men  of 
sense  lo  avoid  it.  I say  to  the  men  of  sense, 
because  there  are  of  these  that  give  in  to  it,  and 
for  these  chiefly  is  this  paper  designed.  Argu- 
ments drawn  from  future  rewards  and  punish- 
ments, are  things  too  remote  for  the  considera- 
tion of  stubborn  sanguine  youth.  They  are  af- 
fected by  such  only  as  propose  immediate  plea- 
sure or  pain  ; as  the  strongest  persuasive  to  the 
children  of  Israel  was  a land  flowing  with  milk 
and  honey.  I believe  I may  say  there  is  more 
toil,  fatigue,  and  uneasiness  in  sloth,  than  can 
be  found  in  any  employment  a man  will  put 
himself  upon.  When  a thoughtful  man  is  once 
fixed  this  way,  spleen  is  the  necessary  conse- 
quence. l^his  directs  him  instantly  to  the  con- 
templation of  his  health  or  circumstances,  which 
must  ever  be  found  extremely  bad  upon  these 
melancholy  itiquiries. 

If  he  has  any  common  business  upon  his 
hands,  numberless  objections  arise,  that  make 
the  despatch  of  it  impossible;  and  he  cries  out 
with  Solomon,  ‘ There  is  a lion  in  the  way,  a 
lion  in  the  streets ;’  that  is,  there  is  some  diffi. 
culty  or  other,  which  to  his  imagination  is  as 
invincible  as  a lion  really  would  be.  The  man, 
on  the  contrary,  that  applies  himself  to  books, 
or  business,  contracts  a cheerful  confidence  in 
all  his  undertakings,  from  the  daily  improve- 
ments of  his  knowledge  or  fortune,  and  instead 
of  giving  himself  up  to 

‘ Thick-ey’d  musing  cursed  melancholy,’ 

Shakspeare. 


z 


173 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


has  that  constant  life  in  his  visage  and  conver- 
sation, which  the  idle  splenetic  man  borrows 
sometimes  from  the  sunshine,  exercise,  or  an 
agreeable  friend.  A recluse  idle  sobriety  must 
be  attended  with  more  bitter  remorse,  than  the 
most  active  debauchery  can  at  any  intervals  be 
molested  with.  The  rake,  if  he  is  a cautious 
manager,  will  allow  himself  very  little  time  to 
examine  his  own  conduct,  and  will  bestow  as 
few  reflections  upon  himself,  as  the  lingerer 
does  upon  any  thing  else,  unless  he  has  the 
misfortune  to  repent.  1 repeat,  the  misfortune 
to  repent,  because  I have  put  the  great  day  of 
account  out  of  the  present  case,  and  am  now  in- 
quiring, not  whose  life  is  most  irreligious,  but 
most  inconvenient.  A gentleman  that  has  for- 
merly been  a very  eminent  lingerer,  and  some- 
thing splenetic,  informs  me,  that  in  one  winter 
he  drank  six  hampers  of  Spa  water,  several  gal- 
lons of  chalybeate  tincture,  two  hogsheads  of 
bitters,  at  the  rate  of  sixty  pounds  a hogshead, 
laid  one  hundred  and  fifty  infallible  schemes,  in 
every  one  of  which  he  was  disappointed,  re- 
ceived a thousand  affronts  during  the  north- 
easterly winds,  and  in  short,  run  through  more 
miser}^  and  expense  than  tlie  most  meritorious 
bravo  could  boast  of.  Another  tells  me,  that  he 
fell  into  this  way  at  the  university,  where  the 
youth  are  too  apt  to  be  lulled  into  a state  of  sueh 
tranquillity  as  prejudices  them  against  the  bus- 
tie  of  that  worldly  business,  for  which  this  part 
of  their  education  should  prepare  them.  As  he 
could  with  the  utmost  secrecy  be  idle  in  his 
own  chamber,  he  says  he  was  for  some  years 
irrecoverably  sunk,  and  immersed  in  the  luxury 
of  an  easy. chair,  though  at  the  same  time,  in 
the  general  opinion,  he  passed  for  a hard  stu- 
dent. During  this  lethargy,  he  had  some  inter- 
vals of  application  to  books,  which  rather  aggra- 
vated than  suspended  the  painful  thoughts  of  a 
misspent  life.  Thus  his  supposed  relief  became 
his  punishment,  and,  like  the  damned  in  Mil- 
ton,  upon  their  conveyance  at  certain  revolu- 
tions from  fire  to  ice, 

— ‘ He  felt  by  turns  the  bitter  change 

Of  fierce  extremes,  extremes  by  change  more  fierce.’ 

When  he  had  a mind  to  go  out,  he  was  so 
scrupulous  as  to  form  some  excuse  or  other, 
which  the  idle  are  ever  provided  with,  and  could 
not  satisfy  himself  without  this  ridiculous  ap- 
pearance of  justice.  Sometimes  by  his  own  con- 
trivance and  insinuation,  the  woman  that  look- 
ed after  his  chamber  would  convince  him  of  the 
necessity  of  washing  his  room,  or  any  other 
matter  of  the  like  joyous  import,  to  which  he 
always  submitted,  after  having  decently  opposed 
it,  and  made  his  exit  with  much  seeming  reluc- 
tance and  inward  delight.  Thus  did  he  pass  the 
noon  of  his  life  in  the  solitude  of  a monk,  and 
the  guilt  of  a libertine.  He  is  since  awakened, 
by  application,  out  of  slumber ; has  no  more 
spleen  than  a Dutchman,  who,  as  sir  W.  Tem- 
ple observes,  is  not  delicate  or  idle  enough  to 
sulfer  from  this  enemy,  but  ‘ is  always  well 
when  ho  is  not  ill,  always  pleased  when  he  is 
not  angry.’ 

There  is  a gentleman  I have  seen  at  a coffee- 
house, near  the  place  of  my  abode,  who  having 
a pretty  good  estate,  and  a disinclination  to 
books  or  business,  to  secure  himself  from  some 


[No.  131. 

of  the  above-mentioned  misfortunes,  employs 
himself  with  much  alacrity  in  the  following 
method.  Being  vehemently  disposed  to  loqua- 
city, he  has  a person  constantly  with  him,  to 
whom  he  gives  an  annual  pension  for  no  other 
merit  but  being  very  attentive,  and  never  inter- 
rupting him  by  question  and  answer,  whatever 
he  may  utter  that  may  seemingly  require  it. 
To  secure  to  himself  discourse,  his  fundamental 
maxim  seems  to  be,  by  no  means  to  consider 
what  he  is  going  to  say.  He  delivers  therefore 
every  thought  as  it  first  intrudes  itself  upon 
him,  and  then,  with  all  the  freedom  you  could 
wish,  will  examine  it,  and  rally  the  imperti- 
nence, or  evince  the  truth  of  it.  In  short,  he 
took  the  same  pleasure  in  confuting  himself,  as 
he  could  have  done  in  discomfiting  an  opponent: 
and  his  discourse  was  as  that  of  two  persons  at- 
tacking each  other  with  exceeding  warmth,  in- 
coherence, and  good-nature.  There  is  another, 
whom  I have  seen  in  the  park,  employing  him- 
self with  the  same  industr}^,  though  not  with 
the  same  innocence.  He  is  very  dexterous  in 
taking  flies,  and  fixing  one  at  each  end  of  a 
horse  hair,  which  his  perriwig  supplies  him 
with.  He  hangs  them  over  a little  stick,  which 
suspension  inclines  them  immediately  to  war 
upon  each  other,  there  being  no  possibility  of 
retreat.  From  the  frequent  attention  of  his  eyes 
to  these  combats,  he  perceives  the  several  turns 
and  advantages  of  the  battle,  which  are  altoge- 
ther invisible  to  a common  spectator.  I the 
other  day  found  him  in  the  enjoyment  of  a cou- 
ple of  gigantic  blue-bottles,  which  were  hung 
out  and  embattled  in  the  aforesaid  warlike  ap- 
pointments. That  I might  enter  into  the  secret 
shocks  of  this  conflict,  he  lent  me  a magnifying 
glass,  which  presented  me  with  an  engagement 
between  two  of  the  most  rueful  monsters  I have 
ever  read  of  even  in  romance. 

If  we  cannot  bring  ourselves  to  appoint  and 
perform  such  tasks  as  would  be  of  considerable 
advantage  to  us,  let  us  resolve  upon  some  other, 
however  trifling,  to  be  performed  at  appointed 
times.  By  this  we  may  gain  a victory  over  a 
wandering  unsettled  mind,  and  by  this  regula- 
tion of  the  impulse  of  our  wills,  may  in  time 
make  them  obedient  to  the  dictates  of  our  rea- 
son. 

When  I am  disposed  to  treat  of  the  irreligion 
of  an  idle  life,  it  shall  be  under  this  head,  pere- 
unt  et  imputantur : which  is  an  inscription  upon 
a sun-dial  in  one  of  the  inns  of  court,  and  is 
with  great  propriety  placed  to  public  view  in 
such  a place,  where  the  inhabitants  being  in  an 
everlasting  hurry  of  business  or  pleasure,  the 
busy  may  receive  an  innocent  admonition  to 
keep  their  appointments,  and  the  idle  a dread- 
ful one  not  to  keep  theirs. 

‘ August  10,  1713. 

‘ Mr.  Iro.vside, — I am  obliged  to  you  for  in- 
serting my  letter  concerning  the  demolition  of 
Dunkirk  in  your  paper  of  the  seventh  instant; 
but  you  will  find,  upon  perusal,  that  you  have 
printed  the  word  three  where  you  should  have 
printed  the  word  two;  which  I desire  you  would 
amend  by  inserting  the  whole  paragraph,  and 
that  which  immediately  follows  it,  in  your  very 
next  paper.  The  paragraph  runs  thus  : 


No.  132.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


179 


“ The  very  common  people  know,  that  within 
two  months  after  the  signing-  of  the  peace,  the 
works  towards  the  sea  were  to  be  demolished, 
and  w’ithin  three  months  after  it,  the  works  to- 
wards the  land. 

“ That  the  said  pcaee  was  signed  the  last  of 
March,  O.  S.” 

‘ I beg  pardon  for  giving  you  so  much  trouble, 
which  was  only  to  avoid  mistakes,  having  been 
very  much  abused  by  some  whiggish  senseless 
fellows,  that  give  out  I am  for  the  Pretender. 
Your  most  humble  servant, 

‘ ENGLISH  TORY.’ 


No.  132.]  Wednesday^  August  12,  1713. 

Q,uisque  sues  patimur  manes 

Virg.  ^n.  vi.  743. 

All  have  their  manes.  Drijden. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — The  following  letter  was 
really  written  by  a young  gentleman  in  a lan- 
guishing illness,  which  both  himself,  and  those 
who  attended  him,  thought  it  impossible  for  him 
to  outlive.  If  you  think  such  an  image  of  the 
state  of  a man’s  mind  in  that  circumstance  be 
worth  publishing,  it  is  at  your  service,  and  take 
it  as  follows ; 

“ Dear  Sir, — You  formerly  observed  to  me, 
that  nothing  made  a more  ridiculous  figure  in  a 
man’s  life,  than  the  disparity  we  often  find  in 
him,  sick  and  well.  Thus  one  of  an  unfortu- 
nate constitution  is  perpetually  exhibiting  a 
miserable  example  of  the  weakness  of  his  mind, 
or  of  his  body,  in  their  turns.  I have  had  fre- 
quent opportunities  of  late  to  consider  myself 
in  these  different  views,  and  hope  I have  re- 
ceived some  advantage  by  it.  If  what  Mr.  Wal- 
ler says  be  true,  that, 

‘The  soul's  dark  cottage,  battered  and  decayed, 

Lets  in  new  light  thro’  chinks  that  time  has  made:’ 

“ Then  surely  sickness,  contributing  no  less 
than  old  age  to  the  shaking  down  this  scaffold- 
ing of  the  body,  may  discover  the  inclosed  struc- 
ture more  plainly.  Sickness  is  a sort  of  early 
old  age  ; it  teaches  us  a diffidence  in  our  earthly 
state,  and  inspires  us  with  the  thoughts  of  a fu- 
ture, better  than  a thousand  volumes  of  philoso- 
phers and  divines.  It  gives  so  warning  a con- 
cussion to  those  props  of  our  vanity,  our  strength 
and  youth,  that  we  think  of  fortifying  ourselves 
within,  when  there  is  so  little  dependence  on 
our  outworks.  Youth  at  the  very  best,  is  but  a 
betrayer  of  human  life  in  a gentler  and  smoother 
manner  than  age.  It  is  like  a stream  that 
nourishes  a plant  upon  its  bank,  and  causes  it 
to  flourish  and  blossom  to  the  sight,  but  at  the 
same  time  is  undermining  it  at  the  root  in  se- 
cret. My  youth  has  dealt  more  fairly  and 
openly  with  me.  It  has  afforded  several  pros- 
pects of  my  danger,  and  given  me  an  advantage 
not  very  common  to  young  men,  that  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  world  have  not  dazzled  me  very 
much ; and  I began  where  most  people  end, 
with  a full  conviction  of  the  emptiness  of  all 
sorts  of  ambition,  and  the  unsatisfactory  nature 
of  all  human  pleasures. 


“ When  a smart  fit  of  sickness  tells  rnc  this 
scurvy  tenement  of  my  body  vull  fall  in  a little 
time,  I arn  even  as  unconcerned  as  was  that  ho- 
nest Hibernian,  who  (being  in  bed  in  the  great 
storm  some  years  ago,  and  told  the  house  would 
tumble  over  his  head)  made  answer,  ‘ What 
care  I for  the  house  ? I am  only  a lodger.’  I 
fancy  it  is  the  best  time  to  die,  when  one  is  in 
the  best  humour:  and  so  excessively  w'eak  as  I 
now  am,  I may  say  wuth  conscience,  that  I am 
not  at  all  uneasy  at  the  thought  that  many  men, 
whom  I never  had  any  esteem  for,  are  likely  to 
enjoy  this  world  after  me.  When  I reiflect 
what  an  inconsiderable  little  atom  every  single 
man  is,  with  respect  to  the  whole  creation,  me- 
thinks  it  is  a shame  to  be  concerned  at  the  re- 
moval of  such  a trivial  animal  as  I am.  The 
morning  after  my  exit,  the  sun  will  arise  as 
bright  as  ever,  the  flowers  smell  as  sw’eet,  the 
plants  spring  as  green,  the  world  will  proceed 
in  its  old  course,  people  will  laugh  as  heartily, 
and  marry  as  fast,  as  they  were  used  to  do. 
‘ The  memory  of  man,’  as  it  is  elegantly  ex- 
pressed in  the  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  ‘ passeth 
away  as  the  remembrance  of  a guest  that  tarri- 
eth  but  one  day.’  There  are  reasons  enough,  in 
the  fourth  chapter  of  the  same  book,  to  make 
any  young  man  contented  with  the  prospect  of 
death.  ‘ For  honourable  age  is  not  that  which 
standeth  in  length  of  time,  or  is  measured  by 
number  of  years.  But  wisdom  is  the  gray  hair 
to  men,  and  an  unspotted  life  is  old  age.’  He 
was  taken  away  speedily,  lest  that  ‘ wickedness 
should  alter  his  understanding,  or  deceit  beguile 
his  soul.’  I am,  yours.” 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside^  Esq.  greeting. 

‘ Old  Dad, — I am  so  happy  as  to  be  the  hus- 
band of  a woman  that  never  is  in  the  wrong, 
and  yet  is  at  continual  war  with  every  body, 
especially  with  all  her  servants,  and  myself.  As 
to  her  maids,  she  never  fails  of  having  at  least  a 
dozen  or  fourteen  in  each  year,  yet  never  has 
above  one  at  a time,  and  the  last  that  comes  is 
always  the  worst  that  ever  she  had  in  her  life ; 
although  they  have  given  ver}'^  good  content  in 
better  families  than  mine  for  several  years  to- 
gether. Not  that  she  has  the  pleasure  of  turn- 
ing  them  away,  but  she  does  so  ferrit  them 
about,  “ Forsooth”  and  “ Mistress”  them  up, 
and  so  find  fault  with  every  thing  they  do,  and 
talks  to  them  so  loud  and  so  long,  that  they 
either  give  her  immediate  warning,  or  march 
off  without  any  wages  at  all.  So  that  through 
her  great  zeal  and  care  to  make  them  better 
servants  than  any  in  the  world,  and  their  ob- 
stinacy in  being  no  better  than  they  can,  our 
house  is  a sort  of  Bedlam,  and  nothing  in  order  ; 
for  by  that  time  a maid  comes  to  know  where 
things  stand,  whip,  she  is  gone,  and  so  we  have 
not  another  in  four  or  five  days,  and  this  all  the 
year  round.  As  to  myself,  all  the  world  believes 
me  to  be  one  of  the  best  of  husbands,  and  I am  of 
the  world’s  mind,  until  my  dear  Patient  Grizzle 
comes  to  give  her  opinion  about  me,  and  then 
you  would  believe  I am  as  bad  as  her  maids. 
Oh,  Mr.  Ironside,  never  was  a woman  used  as 
she  is.  The  world  does  not  think  how  unhappy 
she  is ! I am  a wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing.  And 
then  her  neighbours  are  so  ill-natured,  that  they 


180 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


refuse  to  suffer  her  to  say  what  she  pleases  of 
their  families,  without  either  returning  her  com- 
pliments, or  withdrawing  from  her  oratory ; so 
that  the  poor  woman  has  scarcely  any  society 
abroad,  nor  any  comfort  at  home,  and  all  through 
the  sauciness  of  servants,  and  the  unkindness  of 
a husband  that  is  so  cruel  to  her,  as  to  desire 
her  to  be  quiet.  But  she  is  coming.  I am  in 
haste,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

‘NICHOLAS  EARRING.’ 

‘Sir, — I hope  you  will  not  endure  this  dumb 
club,  for  I am  the  unlucky  spouse  of  one  of  those 
gentlemen  : and  when  my  dear  comes  from  this 
joyless  society,  I am  an  impertinent,  noisy  rat- 
tle-snake,  my  maid  is  a saucy  sow,  the  man  is 
a thick-skull  puppy,  and  founders  like  a horse ; 
my  cook  is  a 'tasteless  ass;  and  if  a child  cry, 
the  maid  is  a careless  bear:  If  I have  company, 
they  are  a parcel  of  chattering  magpies : if 
abroad,  I am  a gaggling  goose  ; when  1 return, 
you  are  a fine  galloper  ; women,  like  cats,  should 
keep  the  house.  This  is  a frequent  sentence 
with  him.  Consider  some  remedy  against  a 
temper  that  seldom  speaks,  and  then  speaks  only 
unkindness.  This  will  be  a relief  to  all  those 
miserable  women  who  are  married  to  the  worst 
of  tempers,  the  sullen,  more  especially  to  your 
distressed  appellant,  GOODY  DUMP.’ 

‘Friend  Nestor, — Our  brother  Tremble  hav- 
ing lately  given  thee  wholesome  advice  con- 
cerning tuckers,  I send  thee  a word  of  counsel 
touching  thyself.  Verily  thou  hast  found  great 
favour  with  the  godly  sisters.  I have  read  in 
that  mysterious  book  called  iEsop’s  Fables,  how 
once  upon  a time  an  ass  arrayed  himself  in  the 
skin  of  a lion,  thereby  designing  to  appear  as 
one  of  the  mighty.  But  behold  the  vanity  of 
this  world  was  found  light,  the  spirit  of  untruth 
became  altogether  naked.  When  the  vainglo- 
rious animal  opened  his  jaws  to  roar,  the  lewd 
voice  of  an  ass  braying  was  heard  in  the  moun- 
tains. Friend,  friend,  let  the  moral  of  this  sink 
deep  into  thy  mind ; the  more  thou  ponderest 
thereon,  the  fitter  thou  wilt  become  for  the  fel- 
lowship of  the  faithful.  We  have  every  day 
more  and  more  hopes  of  thee  ; but  between  thee 
and  me,  when  thou  art  converted  thou  must  take 
to  thee  a scripture  name.  One  of  thy  writing 
brethren  bore  a very  good  name,  he  was  enti- 
tled Isaac,  but  now  sleepeth.  Jacob  suiteth  thy 
bookseller  well.  Verily  Nestor  soundeth  Baby- 
lonish in  the  ears  of  thy  well-wisher  and  con- 
stant reader,  RUTH  PRIM. 

• The  third  day  of  the  week,  profanely  called  Tuesday.’ 

‘Sir, — N6twithstanding  your  grave  advice  to 
the  fair  sex  not  to  lay  the  beauties  of  their  necks 
so  open,  I find  they  mind  you  so  little,  that  we 
young  men  are  in  as  much  danger  as  ever. 
Yesterday,  about  seven  in  the  evening,  I look  a 
turn  with  a gentleman  just  come  to  town,  in  a 
public  walk.  We  had  not  walked  above  two 
rounds,  when  the  spark  on  a sudden  pretended 
weariness,  and  as  I importuned  him  to  stay 
longer,  he  turned  short,  and  pointing  to  a cele- 
brated beauty  : “ What,”  said  he,  “ do  you  think 
I am  made  of,  that  I should  bear  the  sight  of 
such  snowy  breasts ! Oh,  she  is  intolerably 


[No.  133. 

handsome  !”  Upon  this  we  parted,  and  I re- 
solved to  take  a little  more  air  in  the  garden, 
yet  avoid  the  danger,  by  casting  my  eyes  down- 
wards : but  to  my  unspeakable  surprise,  I dis- 
covered in  the  same  fair  creature,  the  finest  an- 
kle and  prettiest  foot  that  ever  fancy  imagined. 
If  the  petticoats,  as  well  as  the  stays,  thus  di- 
minish, what  shall  we  do,  dear  Nestor  ? If  it 
is  neither  safe  to  look  at  the  head  nor  the  feet 
of  the  charmer,  whither  shall  we  direct  our 
eyes  7 I need  not  trouble  you  with  any  further 
description  of  her,  but  I beg  you  would  consider 
that  your  wards  are  frail  and  mortal.  Your 
most  obedient  servant,  EPIMETRIUS.’ 


No.  133.]  Thursday,  August  13,  1713. 

Oh,  fatal  love  of  fame!  Oh,  glorious  heat, 

Only  destructive  to  the  brave  and  great. 

Addison's  Campaign. 

The  letters  which  I published  in  the  Guardian 
of  Saturday  last,  are  written  with  such  spirit 
and  greatness  of  mind,  that  they  had  excited  a 
great  curiosity  in  my  lady'  Lizard’s  family,  to 
know  what  occasioned  a quarrel  betwixt  the 
two  brave  men  who  wrote  them  ; and  what  was 
the  event  of  their  combat.  I found  the  family 
the  other  day  listening  in  a circle  to  Mr.  Wil- 
liam, the  templar,  who  was  informing  the  ladies 
of  the  ceremonies  used  in  the  single  combat, 
when  the  kings  of  England  permitted  such  trials 
to  be  performed  in  their  presence.  He  took  oc- 
casion from  the  chance  of  such  judicial  pro- 
ceedings,  to  relate  a custom  used  in  a certain 
part  of  India,  to  determine  lawsuits,  which  he 
produced  as  a parallel  to  the  single  combat.  The 
custom  is,  ‘ That  the  plaintiff  and  defendant  are 
thrown  into  a river,  where  each  endeavours  to 
keep  under  water  as  long  as  he  is  able  ; and  he 
who  comes  up  first  loses  the  cause.’  The  author 
adds,  ‘ that  if  they  had  no  other  way  of  deciding 
controversies  in  Europe,  the  lawyers  might  e’en 
throw  themselves  in  after  them.’ 

The  mirth  occasioned  by  this  Indian  law  did 
not  hinder  the  ladies  from  reflecting  still  more 
upon  the  above-named  letters.  I found  they 
had  agreed,  that  it  must  be  a mistress  which 
caused  the  duel ; and  Mrs.  Cornelia  had  already 
settled  in  her  mind  the  fashion  of  their  arms, 
their  colours,  and  devices.  My  lady  only  asked 
with  a sigh,  if  either  of  the  combatants  had  a 
wife  and  children. 

In  order  to  give  them  what  satisfaction  I 
could,  I looked  over  my  papers ; and  though  I 
could  not  find  the  occasion  of  the  difference,  I 
shall  present  the  world  with  an  authentic  ac- 
count of  the  fight,  written  by  the  survivor  to  a 
courtier.  The  gallant  behaviour  of  the  com- 
batants may  serve  to  raise  in  our  minds  a yet 
higher  detestation  of  that  false  honour  which 
robs  our  country  of  men  so  fitted  to  support  and 
adorn  it. 

Sir  Edward  Sackville's  relation  of  the  Jight  be- 
twixt him  and  the  lord  Bruce. 

‘ Worthy  Sir, — As  I am  not  ignorant,  so 
ought  I to  be  sensible  of  the  false  aspersions 
some  authorless  tongues  have  laid  upon  me,  in 


No.  133.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


181 


the  report  of  the  unfortunate  passage  lately 
happened  between  the  lord  Bruce  and  myself, 
which,  as  they  are  spread  here,  so  I may  justly 
fear  they  reign  also  where  you  are.  There  arc 
but  two  ways  to  resolve  doubts  of  this  nature ; 
by  oath  or  by  sword.  The  first  is  due  to  magis- 
trates, and  communicable  to  friends  ; the  other 
to  such  as  maliciously  slander  and  impudently 
defend  their  assertion.  Your  love,  not  m}^  me- 
rit, assure  me  you  hold  me  your  friend,  which 
esteem  I am  much  desirous  to  retain.  Do  me 
therefore  the  right  to  understand  the  truth  of 
that;  and  in  my  behalf  inform  others,  who 
either  are,  or  may  be  infected  with  sinister  ru- 
mours, much  prejudicial  to  that  fair  opinion  I 
desire  to  hold  amongst  all  worthy  persons.  And 
on  the  faith  of  a gentleman,  the  relation  I shall 
give  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  bare 
truth.  The  inclosed  contains  the  first  citation, 
sent  me  from  Paris  by  a Scotch  gentleman,  who 
delivered  it  to  me  in  Derbyshire  at  my  father- 
in-law’s  house.  After  it,  follows  my  then  an- 
swer, returned  him  by  the  same  bearer.  The 
next  is  my  accomplishment  of  my  first  promise, 
being  a particular  assignation  of  place  and 
weapons,  which  1 sent  by  a servant  of  mine,  by 
post,  from  Rotterdam,  as  soon  as  I landed  there. 
The  receipt  of  which,  joined  with  an  acknow- 
ledgment of  my  too  fair  carriage  to  the  de- 
ceased lord,  is  testified  by  the  last,  which  periods 
the  business  until  we  met  at  Tergosa  in  Zea- 
land, it  being  the  place  allotted  for  rendezvous  ; 
where  he,  accompanied  with  one  Mr.  Crawford, 
an  English  gentleman,  for  his  second,  a sur- 
geon, and  a man,  arrived  with  all  the  speed  he 
could.  And  there  having  rendered  himself,  I 
addressed  my  second,  sir  John  Heidon,  to  let 
him  understand,  that  now  all  following  should 
be  done  by  consent,  as  concerning  the  terms 
whereon  we  should  fight,  as  also  the  place.  To 
our  seconds  we  gave  power  for  their  appoint- 
ments, who  agreed  we  should  go  to  Antwerp, 
from  thence  to  Bergen-op-Zoom,  where  in  the 
midway  but  a village  divides  the  Stales’  terri- 
tories from  the  archduke’s.  And  there  was  the 
destined  stage,  to  the  end  that  having  ended,  he 
that  could,  might  presently  exempt  himself 
from  the  justice  of  the  country,  by  retiring  into 
the  dominion  not  offended.  It  was  farther  con- 
cluded, that  in  case  any  should  fall  or  slip,  that 
then  the  combat  should  cease,  and  he  whose  ill 
fortune  had  so  subjected  him,  was  to  acknow- 
ledge his  life  to  have  been  in  the  other’s  hands. 
But  in  case  one  party’s  sword  should  break, 
because  that  could  only  chance  by  hazard,  it 
was  agreed  that  the  other  should  take  no  ad- 
vantage, but  either  then  be  made  friends,  or  else 
upon  even  terms  go  to  it  again.  Thus  these 
conclusions  being  each  of  them  related  to  his 
party,  was  by  us  both  approved,  and  assented 
to.  Accordingly  we  embarked  for  Antwerp. 
And  by  reason,  my  lord,  as  I conceive,  because 
he  could  not  handsomely,  without  danger  or 
discovery,  had  not  paired  the  sword  I sent  him 
to  Paris ; bringing  one  of  the  same  length,  but 
twice  as  broad ; my  second  excepted  against  it, 
and  advised  me  to  match  my  own,  and  send  him 
the  choice,  which  I obeyed ; it  being,  you  know, 
the  challenger’s  privilege  to  elect  his  weapon. 
At  the  delivery  of  the  sword,  which  was  per- 


formed by  sir  Jolin  Heidon,  it  pleased  the  lord 
Bruce  to  choose  my  own,  and  then,  past  expect- 
ation, he  told  liirn  that  he  found  liimsclf  so  far 
behiml-hand,  as  a little  of  my  blood  would  not 
servo  his  turn  ; and  therefore  he  Vv^as  now  re- 
solved to  have  me  alone,  because  he  knew  (for 
I will  use  his  own  words)  “ that  so  worthy  a 
gentleman,  and  my  friend,  could  not  endure  to 
stand  by  and  see  him  do  that  which  he  must, 
to  satisfy  himself  and  his  honour.”  Hereupon 
sir  John  Heidon  replied,  that  such  intentions 
were  bloody  and  butcherly,  far  unfitting  so  no- 
ble  a personage,  who  should  desire  to  bleed 
for  reputation,  not  for  life;  withal  adding,  he 
thought  himself  injured,  being  come  thus  far, 
now  to  be  prohibited  from  executing  those  ho- 
nourable offices  he  came  for.  The  lord  for 
answer,  only  reiterated  his  former  resolutions  ; 
whereupon,  sir  John  leaving  him  the  sword  he 
had  elected,  delivered  me  the  other,  with  his 
determinations.  The  which,  not  for  matter, 
but  manner,  so  moved  me,  as  though  to  my  re- 
membrance, I had  not  of  a long  while  eaten 
more  liberally  than  at  dinner,  and  therefore 
unfit  for  such  an  action  (seeing  the  surgeons 
hold  a wound  upon  a full  stomach  much  more 
dangerous  than  otherwise)  I requested  my  se- 
cond  to  certify  him,  I would  presently  decide 
the  difference,  and  therefore  he  should  presently 
meet  me  on  horseback,  only  waited  on  by  our 
surgeons,  they  being  unarmed.  Together  we 
rode,  but  one  before  the  other,  some  twelve 
score,  about  two  English  miles  ; and  then  pas- 
sion having  so  weak  an  enemy  to  assail,  as  my 
direction,  easily  became  victor,  and  using  his 
power,  made  me  obedient  to  his  commands.  I 
being  verily  mad  with  anger  the  lord  Bruce 
should  thirst  after  my  life  with  a kind  of  as- 
suredness,  seeing  I had  come  so  far  and  need- 
lessly, to  give  him  leave  to  regain  his  lost  re- 
putation ; I bade  him  alight,  which,  with  all 
willingness  he  quickly  granted,  and  there  in  a 
meadow,  ankle  deep  in  water  at  the  least,  bid- 
ding farewell  to  our  doublets,  in  our  shirts  began 
to  charge  each  other ; having  afore  commanded 
our  surgeons  to  withdraw  themselves  a pretty 
distance  from  us,  conjuring  them  besides,  as 
they  respected  our  favours,  or  their  own  safe- 
ties, not  to  stir,  but  suffer  us  to  execute  our 
pleasures  : we  being  fully  resolved  (God  forgive 
us !)  to  despatch  each  other  by  what  means  we 
could ; I made  a thrust  at  my  enemy,  but  was 
short,  and  in  drawing  back  my  arm  I received 
a great  wound  thereon,  which  I interpreted  as 
a reward  for  my  short  shooting ; but  in  revenge 
I pressed  in  to  him,  though  I then  missed  him 
also,  and  then  received  a wound  in  my  right 
pap,  which  passed  level  through  my  body,  and 
almost  to  my  back.  And  there  we  wrestled  for 
the  two  greatest  and  dearest  prizes  we  could 
ever  expect  trial  for,  honour  and  life.  In  which 
struggling  my  hand  having  but  an  ordinary 
glove  on  it,  lost  one  of  her  servants,  though  the 
meanest,  which  hung  by  a skin,  and  to  sight 
yet  remaineth  as  before,  and  I am  put  in  hope 
one  day  to  recover  the  use  of  it  again.  But  at 
last,  breathless,  yet  keeping  our  holds,  there 
passed  on  both  sides  propositions  of  quitting 
each  other’s  sword.  But  when  amity  was  dead, 

I confidence  could  not  live ; and  who  should  quit 
16 


182 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  134. 


first  was  the  question ; which  on  neither  part 
either  would  perform,  and  restriving  again 
afresh,  with  a kick  and  a wrench  together,  I 
freed  my  long  captivated  weapon ; which  in- 
continently levying  at  his  throat,  being  master 
still  of  his,  I demanded,  if  he  would  ask  his  life, 
or  yield  his  sword  ; both  which,  though  in  that 
imminent  danger,  he  bravely  denied  to  do. 
Myself  being  wounded,  and  feeling  loss  of  blood, 
having  three  conduits  running  on  me,  began  to 
make  me  faint ; and  he  courageously  persisting 
not  to  accord  to  either  of  my  propositions ; re- 
membrance of  his  former  bloody  desire,  and 
feeling  of  my  present  estate,  I struck  at  his 
heart,  but  with  his  avoiding  missed  my  aim,  yet 
passed  through  the  body,  and  drawing  through 
my  sword  re-passed  it  through  again,  through 
another  place ; when  he  cried,  “ Oh,  I am 
slain  !”  seconding  his  speech  with  all  the  force 
he  had  to  cast  me.  But  being  too  weak,  after 
I had  defended  his  assault,  I easily  became 
master  of  him,  laying  him  on  his  back;  when 
being  upon  him,  I redemanded  if  he  would  re- 
quest his  life,  but  it  seemed  he  prized  it  not  at 
so  dear  a rate  to  be  beholding  for  it,  bravely  re- 
plying, “he  scorned  it.”  Which  answer  of  his 
was  so  noble  and  wmrthy,  as  I protest  I could 
not  find  in  my  heart  to  offer  him  any  more  vio- 
lence, only  keeping  him  dowm  until  at  length 
his  surgeon  afar  off,  cried  out,  “ he  would  im- 
mediately die  if  his  w’ounds  were  not  stopped.” 
Whereupon  I asked  if  he  desired  his  surgeon 
should  come,  wdiich  he  accepted  of ; and  so 
being  drawn  away,  I never  offered  to  take  his 
sword,  accounting  it  inhuman  to  rob  a dead 
man,  for  so  I held  him  to  be.  This  thus  ended, 
I retired  to  my  surgeon,  in  whose  arms  after  I 
had  remained  a while  for  want  of  blood,  I lost 
my  sight,  and  withal  as  I then  thought,  my  life 
also.  But  strong  water  and  his  diligence  quick- 
ly recovered  me,  when  I escaped  a great  danger. 
For  my  lord’s  surgeon,  when  nobody  dreamt  of 
it,  came  full  at  me  with  his  lord’s  sword  ; and 
had  not  mine  with  my  sword  interposed  him- 
self, I had  been  slain  by  those  base  hands  ; al- 
though my  lord  Bruce,  weltering  in  his  blood, 
and  past  all  expectation  of  life,  conformable  to 
all  his  former  carriage,  which  was  undoubtedly 
noble,  cried  out,  “ Rascal ! hold  thy  hand.”  ^ 
may  I prosper  as  I have  dealt  sincerely  with  you 
in  this  relation ; which  I pray  you,  with  the  in- 
closed letter,  deliver  to  my  lord  chamberlain. 
And  so,  &c.  Yours, 

EDWARD  SACKVILLE.’ 

‘ Louvain,  the  8th  of  Sept.  1613.’ 


No.  134.]  Friday,  August  14,  1713. 

Matronfe  praeter  facieni  nil  cernere  possis, 

Castera,  ni  Catia  est,  deniissa  veste  tegentis. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Sat.  ii.  94. 

In  virtuous  dames  you  see  their  face  alone  : 

None  show  the  rest  but  women  of  the  town. 

My  lion  having  given  over  roaring  for  some 
time,  I find  that  several  stories  have  been  spread 
abroad  in  the  country  to  his  disadvantage.  One 
of  my  correspondents  tells  me,  it  is  confidently 


reported  of  him  in  their  parts,  that  he  is  silenced 
by  authority  ; another  informs  me,  that  he  hears 
he  was  sent  for  by  a messenger,  who  had  orders 
to  bring  him  away  with  all  his  papers,  and  that 
upon  examination  he  was  found  to  contain  se- 
veral dangerous  things  in  his  maw.  I must  net 
omit  another  report  which  has  been  raised  by 
such  as  are  enemies  to  me  and  my  lion,  namely, 
that  he  is  starved  for  want  of  food,  and  that  he 
has  not  had  a good  meal’s  meat  for  this  fort- 
night. I do  hereby  declare  these  reports  to  be 
altogether  groundless ; and  since  I am  contra- 
dicting common  fame,  I must  likewise  acquaint 
the  world,  that  the  story  of  a two  hundred 
pound  bank-bill  being  conveyed  to  me  through 
the  mouth  of  my  lion  has  no  foundation  of  truth 
in  it.  The  matter  of  fact  is  this,  my  lion  has 
not  roared  for  these  twelve  days  past,  by  reason 
that  his  prompters  have  put  very  ill  words  in 
his  mouth,  and  such  as  he  could  not  utter  with 
common  honour  and  decency.  Notwithstanding 
the  admonitions  I have  given  my  correspond- 
ents, many  of  them  have  crammed  great  quan- 
tities of  scandal  down  his  throat,  others  have 
choked  him  with  lewdness  and  ribaldry.  Some 
of  them  have  gorged  him  with  so  much  non- 
sense that  they  have  made  a very  ass  of  him. 
On  3Ionday  last,  upon  examining,  I found  him 
an  arrant  French  tory,  and  the  day  after  a viru- 
lent whig.  Some  have  been  so  mischievous  as 
to  make  him  fall  upon  his  keeper,  and  give  me 
very  reproachful  language  ; but  as  I have  pro- 
mised to  restrain  him  from  hurting  any  man’.s 
reputation,  so  my  reader  may  be  assured  that  I 
myself  shall  be  the  last  man  whom  I will  suffer 
him  to  abuse.  However,  that  I may  give  gene- 
ral satisfaction,  I have  a design  of  converting  a 
room  in  Mr.  Button’s  house  to  the  lion’s  library, 
in  which  I intend  to  deposit  the  several  packets 
of  letters  and  private  intelligence  which  I do 
not  communicate  to  the  public.  These  manu- 
scripts w'ill  in  time  be  very  valuable,  and  may 
afford  good  lights  to  future  historians  who  shall 
give  an  account  of  the  present  age.  In  the 
mean  while,  as  the  lion  is  an  animal  which  has 
a particular  regard  for  chastity,  it  has  been  ob- 
served that  mine  has  taken  delight  in  roaring 
very  vehemently  against  the  untuckered  neck, 
and,  as  far  as  I can  find  by  him,  is  still  deter- 
mined to  roar  louder  and  louder,  until  that 
irregularity  be  thoroughly  reformed. 

‘Good  Mr.  Ironside, — I must  acquaint  you, 
for  your  comfort,  that  your  lion  is  grown  a kind 
of  bull-beggar  among  the  women  where  I live. 
When  my  wife  comes  home  late  from  cards,  or 
commits  any  other  enormity,  I whisper  in  her 
ear,  partly  between  jest  and  earnest,  that  “ I 
will  tell  4he  lion  of  her.”  Dear  sir,  do  not  let 
them  alone  until  you  have  made  them  put  on 
their  tuckers  again.  What  can  be  a greater 
sign,  that  they  themselves  are  sensible  they  have 
stripped  too  far,  than  their  pretending  to  call  a 
bit  of  linen  which  will  hardly  cover  a silver 
groat,  their  modesty-piece  ? It  is  observed,  that 
this  modesty-piece  still  sinks  lower  and  lower  ; 
and  who  knows  where  it  will  fix  at  last  ? 

‘ You  must  know,  sir,  I am  a Turkey  mer- 
chant, and  I lived  several  years  in  a country 


No.  135.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


183 


where  the  women  show  nothing  but  their  eyes. 
Upon  my  return  to  England  I was  almost  out 
of  countenance  to  see  my  pretty  country-women 
laying  open  their  charms  with  so  much  liberal- 
ity, though  at  that  time  many  of  them  were 
concealed  under  the  modest  shade  of  the  tucker. 
I soon  after  married  a very  fine  woman,  who 
always  goes  in  the  extremity  of  the  fashion.  I 
was  pleased  to  think,  as  every  married  man  must 
be,  that  I should  make  daily  discoveries  in  the 
dear  creature,  which  were  unknown  to  the  rest 
of  the  world.  But  since  this  new  airy  fashion 
is  come  up,  every  one’s  eye  is  as  familiar  with 
her  as  mine  ; for  I can  positively  affirm,  that 
her  neck  is  grown  eight  inches  within  these 
three  years.  And  what  makes  me  tremble 
when  I think  of  it,  that  pretty  foot  and  ankle 
are  nov/  exposed  to  the  sight  of  the  whole  world, 
which  made  my  very  heart  dance  within  me, 
when  I first  found  myself  their  proprietor.  As 
in  all  appearance  the  curtain  is  still  rising,  I 
find  a parcel  of  rascally  young  fellows  in  the 
neighbourhood  are  in  hopes  to  be  presented  with 
some  new  scene  every  day. 

‘ In  short,  sir,  the  tables  are  now  quite  turned 
upon  me.  Instead  of  being  acquainted  with 
her  person  more  than  other  men,  I have  now 
the  least  share  of  it.  When  she  is  at  home  she 
is  continually  muffled  up,  and  concealed  in 
mobs,  morning  gowns,  and  handkerchiefs ; but 
strips  every  afternoon  to  appear  in  public.  For 
aught  I can  find,  when  she  has  thrown  aside 
half  her  clothes,  she  begins  to  think  herself 
half  drest.  Now,  sir,  if  I may  presume  to  say 
so,  you  have  been  in  the  wrong  to  think  of  re- 
forming this  fashion,  by  showing  the  immodesty 
of  it.  If  you  expect  to  make  female  proselytes, 
you  must  convince  them,  that  if  they  would  get 
husbands,  they  must  not  show  all  before  mar- 
riage. I am  sure,  had  my  wife  been  dressed 
befiire  I married  her  as  she  is  at  present,  she 
would  have  satisfied  a good  half  of  my  curiosity. 
Many  a man  has  been  hindered  from  laying  out 
his  money  on  a show,  by  seeing  the  principal 
figure  of  it  hung  out  before  the  door.  I have 
ofteu  observed  a curious  passenger  so  attentive 
to  these  objects  which  he  could  see  for  nothing, 
that  he  took  no  notice  of  the  master  of  the  show, 
who  was  continually  crying  out,  “ Pray,  gentle- 
men, walk  in.” 

‘ I have  told  you  at  the  beginning  of  this  let- 
ter, how  Mahomet’s  she-disciples  are  obliged  to 
cover  themselves  ; you  have  lately  informed  us 
from  the  foreign  newspapers  of  the  regulations 
which  the  pope  is  now  making  among  the  Ro- 
man ladies  in  this  particular;  and  I hope,  our 
British  dames,  notvvitlistanding  they  have  the 
finest  skins  in  the  world,  will  be  content  to  show 
no  more  of  them  than  what  belongs  to  the  face 
and  to  the  neck,  properly  speaking.  Their  being 
fair  is  no  excuse  for  their  being  naked. 

‘ You  know,  sir,  that  in  the  beginning  of  last 
centur}’’,  there  was  a sect  of  men  among  us,  who 
called  themselves  Adamites,  and  appeared  in 
])ublic  without  clothes.  This  heresy  may  spring 
up  in  the  other  sex,  if  you  do  not  put  a timely 
stop  to  it,  there  being  so  many  in  all  public 
places,  who  show  so  great  an  inclination  to  be 
Eveites.  I am,  sir,  &c.’  O’ 


No.  135. j Saturday^  August  15,  1713. 

inea 

Virliite  me  involvo — Hor.  I.ih.  3.  Od.  xxix.  54. 

Virtue,  though  in  rags,  will  keep  me  warm. 

Dnjden. 

A GOOD  conscience  is  to  the  soul  what  health 
is  to  the  body  ; it  preserves  a constant  ease  and 
serenity  within  us,  and  more  than  countervails 
all  the  calamities  and  afflictions  which  can  po.s- 
sibly  befall  us.  I know  nothing  so  hard  for  a 
generous  mind  to  get  over  as  calumny  and  re- 
proach, and  cannot  find  any  method  of  quieting 
the  soul  under  them,  besides  this  single  one,  of 
our  being  conscious  to  ourselves  that  we  do  not 
deserve  them. 

I have  been  always  mightily  pleased  with 
that  passage  in  Don  Quixote,  where  the  fantas- 
tical knight  is  represented  as  loading  a gentle- 
man of  good  sense  with  praises  and  eulogiums. 
Upon  which  the  gentleman  makes  this  reflection 
to  himself : How  grateful  is  praise  to  human 
nature  ! I cannot  forbear  being  secretly  pleased 
with  the  commendations  I receive,  though  I am 
sensible  it  is  a madman  that  bestows  them  on 
me.  In  the  same  manner,  though  we  are  often 
sure  that  the  censures  which  are  passed  upon 
us  are  uttered  by  those  who  know  nothing  of 
us,  and  have  neither  means  nor  abilities  to  form 
a right  judgment  af  us,  we  cannot  forbear  being 
grieved  at  what  they  say. 

In  order  to  heal  this  infirmity,  which  is  so 
natural  to  the  best  and  wisest  of  men,  I have 
taken  a particular  pleasure  in  observing  the 
conduct  of  the  old  philosophers,  how  they  bore 
themselves  up  against  the  malice  and  detraction 
of  their  enemies. 

The  way  to  silence  calumny,  says  Bias,  is  to 
be  always  exercised  in  such  things  as  are  praise- 
worthy. Socrates,  after  having  received  sen- 
tence, told  his  friends,  that  he  had  always  ac- 
customed himself  to  regard  truth  and  not 
censure,  and  that  he  was  not  troubled  at  his 
condemnation,  because  he  knew  himself  free 
from  guilt.  It  was  in  the  same  spirit  that  he 
heard  the  accusations  of  his  two  great  adver- 
saries, who  had  uttered  against  him  the  most 
virulent  reproaches.  Anytus  and  Melitus,  says 
he,  may  procure  sentence  against  me,  but  they 
cannot  hurt  me.  This  divine  philosopher  was 
so  well  fortified  in  his  own  innocence,  that  he 
neglected  all  the  impotence  of  evil  tongues  which 
were  engaged  in  his  destruction.  This  was 
properly  the  support  of  a good  conscience,  that 
contradicted  the  reports  which  had  been  raised 
against  him,  and  cleared  him  to  himself. 

Others  of  the  philosophers  rather  choose  to 
retort  the  injury  by  a smart  reply,  than  thus  to 
disarm  it  wuth  respect  to  themselves.  They 
show  that  it  stung  them,  though  at  the  same 
time  they  had  the  address  to  make  their  aggres- 
sors suffer  with  them.  Of  this  kind  w’as  Aris- 
totle’s reply  to  one  who  pursued  him  with  long 
and  bitter  invectives.  ‘ You,’  says  he,  ‘ who  are 
used  to  suffer  reproaches,  utter  them  with  de- 
light ; I who  have  not  been  used  to  utter  them 
take  no  pleasure  in  hearing  them.’  Diogenes 
was  still  more  severe  on  one  who  spoke  ill  of 
him : “ Nobody  will  believe  you  when  you  speak 


184 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


ill  of  me,  any  more  than  they  would  believe  me 
should  I speak  well  of  you.’ 

In  these,  and  many  other  instances  I could 
produce,  the  bitterness  of  the  answer  sufficiently 
testifies  the  uneasiness  of  mind  the  person  was 
under  who  made  it.  I would  rather  advise  my 
reader,  if  he  has  not  in  this  case  the  secret  con- 
solation, that  he  deserves  no  such  reproaches  as 
are  cast  upon  him,  to  follow  the  advice  of  Epic- 
tetus : ‘ If  any  one  speaks  ill  of  thee,  consider 
whether  he  has  truth  on  his  side  ; and  if  so,  re- 
form thyself,  that  his  censures  may  not  affect 
thee.’  When  Anaximander  was  told,  that  the 
very  boys  laug-hed  at  his  singing ; ‘ Ay,’  says 
he,  ‘ then  I must  learn  to  sing  better.’  But  of 
all  the  sayings  of  philosophers  which  I have 
gathered  together  for  my  own  use  on  this  occa- 
sion, there  are  none  which  carry  in  them  more 
candour  and  good  sense  than  the  two  following 
ones  of  Plato.  Being  told  that  he  had  many  ene- 
mies who  spoke  ill  of  him  ; ‘ It  is  no  matter,’  said 
he,  ‘ I will  live  so  that  none  shall  believe  them.’ 
Hearing  at  another  time  that  an  intimate  friend 
of  his  had  spoken  detractingly  of  him  ; ‘ I am 
sure  he  would  not  do  it,’  says  he,  ‘ if  he  had  not 
some  reason  for  it.’  This  is  the  surest  as  well 
as  the  noblest  way  of  drawing  the  sting  out  of  a 
reproach,  and  a true  method  of  preparing  a man 
for  that  great  and  only  relief  against  the  pains 
of  calumny,  ‘a good  conscience.’ 

I designed  in  this  essay  to  show  that  there  is 
no  happiness  wanting  to  him  who  is  possessed 
of  this  excellent  frame  of  mind,  and  that  no 
person  can  be  miserable  who  is  in  the  enjoyment 
of  it : but  I find  this  subject  so  well  treated  in 
one  of  Dr.  South’s  sermons,  that  I shall  fill  this 
Saturday’s  paper  with  a passage  of  it,  which 
cannot  but  make  the  man’s  heart  burn  within 
him,  who  reads  it  with  due  attention. 

That  admirable  author,  having  shown  the  vir- 
tue  of  a good  conscience  in  supporting  a man 
under  the  greatest  trials  and  difficulties  of  li*9, 
concludes  with  representing  its  force  and  effi- 
cacy in  the  hour  of  death. 

‘ The  third  and  last  instance  in  which,  above 
all  others,  this  confidence  towards  God  does 
most  eminently  show  and  exert  itself,  is  at  the 
time  of  death  ; which  surely  gives  the  grand  op- 
portunity of  trying  both  the  strength  and  worth 
of  every  principle.  When  a man  shall  be  just 
about  to  qiu:  the  stage  of  this  world,  to  put  off 
his  mortality  and  to  deliver  up  his  last  accounts 
to  God;  at  wiiich  sad  time  his  memory  shall 
serve  him  for  little  else  but  to  terrify  him  with 
a frightful  review  of  his  past  life,  and  his  for- 
mer extravagances  stripped  of  all  their  pleasure, 
but  retaining  their  guilt:  what  is  it  then  that 
can  promise  him  a fair  passage  into  the  other 
world,  or  a comfortable  appearance  before  his 
dreadful  Judge  when  he  is  there?  Not  all  the 
friends  and  interests,  all  the  riches  and  honours 
under  heaven,  can  speak  so  much  as  a word  for 
him,  or  one  word  of  comfort  to  him  in  that  con- 
dition ; they  may  possibly  reproacli,  but  they 
cannot  relieve  him. 

‘ No,  at  this  disconsolate  time,  when  the  busy 
tempter  shall  be  more  than  usually  apt  to  vex 
and  trouble  him,  and  the  pains  of  a dying  body 
to  hinder  and  discompose  him,  and  the  settle- 
ment of  worldly  affairs  to  disturb  and  confound 


[No.  13ff. 

him ; and  in  a word,  all  things  conspire  to  make 
his  sick  bed  grievous  and  uneasy ; nothing  can 
then  stand  up  against  all  these  ruins,  and  speak 
life  in  the  midst  of  death,  but  a clear  conscience. 

‘ And  the  testimony  of  that  shall  make  the 
comforts  of  heaven  descend  upon  his  weary 
head,  like  a refreshing  dew,  or  a shower  upon 
a parched  ground.  It  shall  give  him  some  live- 
ly earnests,  and  secret  anticipations  of  his  ap- 
proaching joy.  It  shall  bid  his  soul  go  out  of 
the  body  undauntedly,  and  lift  up  his  head  with 
confidence  before  saints  and  angels.  Surely  the 
comfort  which  it  conveys  at  this  season,  is  some- 
thing bigger  than  the  capacities  of  mortality, 
mighty  and  unspeakable,  and  not  to  be  under- 
stood until  it  comes  to  be  felt. 

‘ And  now,  who  would  not  quit  all  the  plea- 
sures, and  trash,  and  trifles,  which  are  apt  to 
captivate  the  heart  of  man,  and  pursue  the 
greatest  rigours  of  piety,  and  austerities  of  a 
good  life,  to  purchase  to  himself  such  a con- 
science, as  at  the  hour  of  death,  when  all  the 
friendship  in  the  world  shall  bid  him  adieu,  and 
the  whole  creation  turn  its  back  upon  him, 
shall  dismiss  the  soul  and  close  his  eyes  with 
that  blessed  sentence,  “ well  done,  thou  good 
and  faithful  servant,  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of 
thy  Lord  !”  ’ (ET 


No.  136.]  Monday,  August  17,  1713. 

Nodes  atque  dies  patet  atri  janua  ditis. 

Virg.  iEn.  vi.  127. 

The  gates  of  death  are  open  night  and  day. 

Dryden. 

Some  of  our  quaint  moralists  have  pleased 
themselves  with  an  observation,  that  there  is 
but  one  way  of  coming  into  the  world,  but  a 
thousand  to  go  out  of  it.  I have  seen  a fanciful 
dream  written  by  a Spaniard,  in  which  he  in- 
troduces the  person  of  Death  metamorphosing 
himself,  like  another  Proteus,  into  innumerable 
shapes  and  figures.  To  represent  the  fatality 
of  fevers  and  agues,  with  many  other  distem- 
pers and  accidents  that  destroy  the  life  of  man. 
Death  enters  first  of  all  in  a body  of  fire ; a lit- 
tle after  he  appears  like  a man  of  snow,  then 
rolls  about  the  room  like  a cannon-ball,  then  lies 
on  the  table  like  a gilded  pill;  after  this  he  trans- 
forms himself  of  a sudden  into  a sword,  then 
dwindles  successively  to  a dagger,  to  a bodkin, 
to  a crooked  pin,  to  a needle,  to  a hair.  The 
Spaniard’s  design  by  this  allegory,  was  to  show 
the  many  assaults  to  which  the  life  of  man  is 
exposed,  and  to  let  his  reader  see  that  there  was 
scarce  any  thing  in  nature  so  very  mean  and 
inconsiderable,  but  that  it  was  able  to  overcome 
him,  and  lay  his  head  in  the  dust.  I remember 
monsieur  Pascal,  in  his  reflections  on  Provi- 
dence, has  this  observation  upon  Cromwell’s 
death.  That  usurper,  says  he,  who  had  destroy- 
ed the  royal  family  in  his  own  nation,  who  had 
made  all  the  princes  of  Europe  tremble,  and 
struck  a terror  into  Rome  itself,  was  at  last 
taken  out  of  the  world  by  a fit  of  the  gravel.  An 
atom,  a grain  of  sand,  says  he,  that  would  have 
been  of  no  significancy  in  any  other  part  of  the 
universe,  being  lodged  in  such  a particular 


No.  137.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


185 


place,  was  an  instrument  of  Providence  to  bring 
about  the  most  happy  revolutions,  and  to  remove 
from  the  face  of  the  earth  this  troubler  of  man- 
kind.  In  short,  swarms  of  distempers  are  every 
where  hovering  over  us ; casualties,  whether  at 
home  or  abroad,  whether  we  wake  or  sleep,  sit 
or  walk,  are  planted  about  us  in  ambuscade ; 
every  element,  every  climate,  every  season,  all 
nature  is  full  of  death. 

There  are  more  casualties  incident  to  men 
than  women,  as  battles,  sea-voyages,  with  seve- 
ral dangerous  trades  and  professions  that  often 
prove  fatal  to  the  practitioners.  I have  seen  a 
treatise  written  hy  a learned  physician,  on  the 
distempers  peculiar  to  those  who  work  in  stone 
or  marble.  It  has  been  therefore  observed  by 
curious  men,  that  upon  a strict  examination 
there  are  more  males  brought  into  the  world 
than  females.  Providence,  to  supply  this  waste 
in  the  species,  has  made  allowances  for  it  by  a 
suitable  redundancy  in  the  male  sex.  Those 
who  have  made  the  nicest  calculations  have 
found,  I think,  that  taking  one  year  with  an- 
other, there  are  about  twenty  boys  produced  to 
nineteen  girls.  This  observation  is  so  well 
grounded,  that  I will  at  any  time  lay  five  to 
four,  that  there  appear  more  male  than  female 
infants  in  every  weekly  bill  of  mortality.  And 
what  can  be  a more  demonstrative  argument  of 
the  superintendeney  of  Providence? 

There  are  casualties  incident  to  every  jjarti- 
cular  station  and  way  of  life.  A friend  of  mine 
was  once  saying,  that  he  fancied  there  would 
be  something  new  and  diverting  in  a country 
bill  of  mortality.  Upon  communicating  this 
hint  to  a gentleman  who  was  then  going  down 
to  his  seat,  which  lies  at  a considerable  distance 
from  London,  he  told  me  he  would  make  a col- 
lection, as  well  as  he  could,  of  the  several  deaths 
that  had  happened  in  his  country  for  the  space 
of  a whole  year,  and  send  them  up  to  me  in  the 
form  of  such  a bill  as  I mentioned.  The  reader 
will  here  see  that  he  has  been  as  good  as  his 
promise.  To  make  it  the  more  entertaining,  he 
has  set  down,  among  real  distempers,  some  ima- 
ginary ones,  to  which  the  country  people  ascribe 
the  deaths  of  some  of  their  neighbours.  I shall 
extract  out  of  them  such  only  as  seem  almost 
peculiar  to  the  country,  laying  aside  fevers,  apo- 
plexies, small-pox,  and  the  like,  which  they  have 


in  common  with  towns  and  cities. 

Of  a six-bar  gale,  fox-hunters  - - 4 

Of  a quick-set  hedge  - ...  2 

Two  duels,  viz. 

First,  between  a frying-pan  and  a 
pitch-fork  . . - - - 1 

Second,  between  a joint-stool  and  a 

brown  jug 1 

Bewitched  - - - - - 13 

Of  an  evil  tongue  - . - - 9 

Crossed  in  love  ...  - - 7 

Broke  his  neck  in  robbing  a hen-roost  1 

Cut  finger  turned  to  a gangrene  by  an 
old  gentlewoman  of  the  parish  - 1 

Surfeit  of  curds  and  cream  - - 2 

Took  cold  sleeping  at  church  - - 11 

Of  a sprain  in  his  shoulder  by  saving  his 
dog  at  a bull-baiting  - - - 1 

Lady  B ’s  cordial  water  - - 2 

Knocked  down  by  a quart  bottle  - 1 

2 A 


Frighted  out  of  his  wits  by  a headless 
dog  with  saucer  eyes  - . - 1 

Of  October 25 

Broke  a vein  in  bawling  for  a knight  of 
the  shire  .....  l 

Old  women  drowned  upon  trial  of  witch- 
craft   3 

Climbing  a crow’s  nest  ...  1 

Chalk  and  green  apples  ...  4 

Led  into  a horse-pond  by  a will  of  the 

wisp 1 

Died  of  a fright  in  an  exercise  of  the 
trained  bands  1 

Over-eat  himself  at  a house-warming  1 

By  the  parson’s  bull  . - - . 9 

Vagrant  beggars  worried  by  the  squire’s 

house-dog 2 

Shot  by  mistake  1 

Of  a mountebank  doctor  . - . g 

Of  the  merry-andrew  ...  1 

Caught  her  death  in  a wet  ditch  - - 1 

Old  age 100 

Foul  distemper 0 

o- 


No.  137.]  Tuesday,  August  18,  1713. 

sanctiis  haberi 

Justitia»que  tenax,  factis  diclisque  mereris? 

Agnosco  procerem Jiiv.  Sat.  viii.  24. 

Convince  the  world  that  you’re  devout  and  true, 

Be  just  in  all  you  say,  in  all  you  do; 

Whatever  be  your  birth,  you’re  sure  to  be 
A peer  of  the  first  quality  to  me.  Stepney. 

Horace,  Juvenal,  Boileau,  and  indeed  the 
greatest  writers  in  almost  every  age,  have  ex- 
posed  with  all  the  strength  of  wit  and  good 
sense,  the  vanity  of  a man’s  valuing  himself 
upon  his  ancestors,  and  endeavoured  to  show 
that  true  nobility  consists  in  virtue,  not  in  birth. 
With  submission,  however,  to  so  many  great 
authorities,  I think  they  have  pushed  this  mat- 
ter a little  too  far.  We  ought,  in  gratitude,  to 
honour  the  posterity  of  those  who  have  raised 
either  the  interest  or  reputation  of  their  coun. 
try ; and  by  whose  labours  we  ourselves  are 
more  happy,  wise,  or  virtuous,  than  we  should 
have  been  without  them.  Besides,  naturally 
speaking,  a man  bids  fairer  for  greatness  of 
soul,  who  is  the  descendant  of  worthy  ances- 
tors, and  has  good  blood  in  his  veins,  than  one 
v/ho  is  come  of  an  ignoble  and  obscure  parent- 
age. For  these  reasons,  I think  a man  of  merit, 
who  is  derived  from  an  illustrious  line,  is  very 
justly  to  be  regarded  more  than  a man  of  equal 
merit,  who  has  no  claim  to  hereditary  honours. 
Nay,  I think  those  who  are  indifferent  in  them- 
selves, and  have  nothing  else  to  distinguish  them 
but  the  virtues  of  their  forefathers,  are  to  be 
looked  upon  with  a degree  of  veneration,  even 
upon  that  account,  and  to  be  more  respected 
than  the  common  run  of  men  who  are  of  low 
and  vulgar  extraction. 

After  having  thus  ascribed  due  honours  to 
birth  and  parentage,  I must  however  take  no- 
tice  of  those  who  arrogate  to  themselves  more 
honours  than  are  due  to  them  on  this  account. 
The  first  are  such  who  are  not  enough  sensible 
that  vice  and  ignorance  taint  the  blood,  and  that 
16* 


J86 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


an  unworthy  behaviour  degrades  and  disenno-  ■ 
hies  a man  in  the  eye  of  the  world  as  much  as  [ 
birth  and  family  aggrandize  and  exalt  him. 

The  second  are  those  who  believe  a new  man 
of  an  elevated  merit  is  not  more  to  be  honoured 
than  an  insignificant  and  worthless  man  who  is 
descended  from  a long  line  of  patriots  and  he- 
roes: or,  in  other  words,  behold  with  contempt 
a person  who  is  such  a man  as  the  first  founder 
of  their  family  was,  upon  whose  reputation  they 
value  themselves. 

But  I shall  chiefly  apply  myself  to  those 
whose  quality  sits  uppermost  in  all  their  dis- 
courses and  behaviour.  An  empty  man  of  a 
great  family  is  a creature  that  is  scarce  con- 
versible.  You  read  his  ancestry  in  his  smile, 
in  his  air,  in  his  eyebrow.  He  has  indeed  no- 
thing but  his  nobility  to  give  employment  to  his 
thoughts.  Rank  and  precedency  are  the  im- 
portant points  which  he  is  alwa}'^s  discussing 
w'ithin  himself.  A gentleman  of  this  turn  be- 
gan a speech  in  one  of  king  Charles’s  parlia- 
ments : ‘ Sir,  I had  the  honour  to  be  born  at  a 
time’ — upon  which  a rough  honest  gentleman 
took  him  up  short,  ‘ I would  fain  know  what 
that  gentleman  means ; is  there  any  one  in 
the  house  that  has  not  had  the  honour  to  be 
born  as  welt  as  himself?’  The  good  sense  which 
reigns  in  our  nation  has  pretty  well  destroyed 
this  starched  behaviour  among  men  who  have 
seen  the  world,  and  know  that  every  gentleman 
will  be  treated  upon  a foot  of  equality.  But 
there  are  many  who  have  had  their  education 
among  women,  dependants,  or  flatterers,  that 
lose  all  the  respect  which  would  otherwise  be 
paid  them,  by  being  too  assiduous  in  procur- 
ing it. 

My  lord  Froth  has  been  so  educated  in  punc- 
tilio, that  he  governs  himself  by  a ceremonial  in 
all  the  ordinary  occurrences  of  life.  He  mea- 
sures out  his  bow  to  the  degree  of  the  person  he 
converses  with.  I have  seen  him  in  every  in- 
clination of  the  body,  from  a familiar  nod,  to 
the  low  stoop  in  the  salutation  sign.  I remem- 
ber five  of  us,  who  were  acquainted  wuth  one 
another,  met  together  one  morning  at  his  lodg- 
ings, when  a wag  of  the  company  was  saying, 
it  would  be  worth  while  to  observe  how  he  would 
distinguish  us  at  his  first  entrance.  Accordingly 
he  no  sooner  came  into  the  room,  but  casting 
his  eye  about,  ‘ My  lord  such  a one,’  says  he, 

‘ your  most  humble  servant.  Sir  Richard,  your 
humble  servant.  Your  servant,  Mr.  Ironside. 
Mr.  Ducker,  how  do  you  do  ? Ha,  Frank,  are 
you  there !’ 

There  is  nothing  more  easy  than  to  discover 
a man  whose  heart  is  full  of  his  family.  Weak 
minds  that  have  imbibed  a strong  tincture  of 
the  nursery,  younger  brothers  that  have  been 
brought  up  to  nothing,  superannuated  retainers 
to  a great  house,  have  generally  their  thoughts 
taken  up  with  little  else. 

I had,  some  years  ago,  an  aunt  of  my  own,  by 
name  Mrs.  Martha  Ironside,  who  would  never 
marry  beneath  herself,  and  is  supposed  to  have 
died  a maid  in  the  eightieth  year  of  her  age. 
She  was  the  chronicle  of  our  family,  and  past 
away  the  greatest  part  of  the  last  forty  years  of 
her  life  in  recounting  the  antiquity,  marriages, 
exploits,  and  alliances  of  the  Ironsides.  Mrs. 


[No.  138. 

Martha  conversed  generally  with  a knot  of  old 
virgins,  who  were  likewise  of  good  families,  and 
had  been  very  cruel  all  the  beginning  of  the 
last  century.  They  were  every  one  of  them  as 
proud  as  Lucifer;  but  said  their  prayers  twice 
a day,  and  in  all  other  respects  were  the  best 
women  in  the  world.  If  they  saw  a fine  petti- 
coat at  church,  they  immediately  took  to  pieces 
the  pedigree  of  her  that  wore  it,  and  would  lift 
up  their  eyes  to  heaven  at  the  confidence  of  the 
saucy  minx,  when  they  found  she  was  an  honest 
tradesman’s  daughter.  It  is  impossible  to  de- 
scribe the  pious  indignation  that  would  rise  in 
them  at  the  sight  of  a man  who  lived  plentifully 
on  an  estate  of  his  own  getting.  They  were 
transported  w'ith  zeal  beyond  measure,  if  they 
beard  of  a young  woman’s  matching  into  a great 
family  upon  account  only  of  her  beauty,  her 
merit,  or  her  money.  In  short,  there  was  not 
a female  within  ten  miles  of  them  that  was  in 
possession  of  a gold  watch,  a pearl  necklace,  or 
piece  of  Mechlin  lace,  but  they  examined  her 
title  to  it.  My  aunt  Martha  used  to  chide  me 
very  frequently  for  not  sufficiently  valuing  my- 
self.  She  would  not  eat  a bit  all  dinner-time, 
if  at  an  invitation  she  found  she  had  been  seated 
below  iierself ; and  would  frown  upon  me  for  an 
hour  together,  if  she  saw  me  give  place  to  any 
man  under  a baronet.  As  I was  once  talking 
to  her  of  a wealthy  citizen  whom  she  had  re- 
fused in  her  youth,  she  declared  to  me  with 
great  warmth,  that  she  preferred  a man  of  qua- 
lity in  his  shirt  to  the  richest  man  upon  the 
Change  in  a coach  and  six.  She  pretended  that 
our  family  was  nearly  related  by  the  mother’s 
side  to  half  a dozen  peers ; but  as  none  of  them 
knew  any  thing  of  the  matter,  we  always  kept  it 
as  a secret  among  ourselves.  A little  before  her 
death  she  was  reciting  to  me  the  history  of  my 
forefathers  ; but  dwelling  a little  longer  than  or- 
dinary upon  the  actions  of  sir  Gilbert  Ironside, 
who  had  a horse  shot  under  him  at  Edgehill- 
fight,  I gave  an  unfortunate  pish,  and  asked, 
‘ What  was  all  this  to  me  ?’  Upon  which  she 
retired  to  her  closet,  and  fell  a scribbling  for 
three  hours  together,  in  which  time,  as  I after- 
wards found,  she  struck  me  out  of  her  will,  and 
left  all  she  had  to  my  sister  Margaret,  a wheed- 
ling baggage,  that  used  to  be  asking  questions 
about  her  great-grandfather  from  morning  to 
night.  She  now  lies  buried  among  the  family 
of  the  Ironsides,  with  a stone  over  her,  acquaint- 
ing the  reader,  that  she  died  at  the  age  of  eighty 
years,  a spinster,  and  that  she  was  descended 
of  the  ancient  family  of  the  Ironsides;  after 
which  follows  the  genealogy  drawn  up  by  her 
own  hand.  0° 


No.  138.]  Wednesday^  August  19,  1713. 

Incenditque  animum  famce  venientis  amore. 

Firg.  ^n.  vi.  889. 

And  fires  liis  mind  with  love  of  future  fame. 

There  is  nothing  which  I study  so  much  in 
the  course  of  these  my  daily  dissertations  as  va- 
riety. By  this  means  every  one  of  my  readers 
is  sure  some  time  or  other  to  find  a subject  that 


No.  138.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


187 


pleases  him,  and  almost  every  paper  has  some 
particular  set  of  men  for  its  advocates.  Instead 
of  seeing-  the  number  of  my  papers  every  day 
increasing,  they  would  quickly  lie  as  a drug 
upon  my  hands,  did  not  I take  care  to  keep  up 
the  appetite  of  my  guests,  and  quicken  it  from 
time  to  time  by  something  new  and  unexpected. 
In  short,  I endeavour  to  treat  my  reader  in  the 
same  manner  as  Eve  does  the  angel  in  that  beau- 
tiful description  of  Milton  : 

‘So  saying,  with  despatchful  looks  in  haste 
She  turns,  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent. 

What  choice  to  choose  for  delicacy  best ; 

What  order,  so  contrived  as  not  to  mix 
Tastes,  not  well  joined,  inelegant ; but.bring 
Taste  after  taste,  upheld  with  kindliest  change. 
Whatever  earth,  all-bearing  mother,  yields 
In  India  East  or  West,  or  middle  shore  ; 

In  Pontus  or  the  Punic  coast,  or  where 
Alcinous  reigned;  fruit  of  all  kinds,  in  coat 
Rough  or  smooth  lined,  or  bearded,  husk  or  shell, 

She  gathers,  tribute  large,  and  on  the  board 
Heaps  with  unsparing  hand’ Fifth  Book. 

If  by  this  method  I can  furnish  out  a Splen- 
dida  farrago,  according  to  the  compliiuent  late- 
ly paid  me  in  a fine  poem,  published  among  the 
exercises  of  the  last  Oxford  act,  I have  gained 
the  end  which  I proposed  to  myself. 

In  my  yesterday’s  paper,  I showed  how  the 
actions  of  our  ancestors  and  forefathers  should 
excite  us  to  every  thing  that  is  great  and  virtu- 
ous. I shall  here  observe,  that  a regard  to  our 
posterity,  and  those  who  are  to  descend  from  us, 
ought  to  have  the  same  kind  of  influence  on  a 
generous  mind.  A noble  soul  would  rather  die 
than  commit  an  action  that  should  make  his 
children  blush  when  he  is  in  his  grave,  and  be 
looked  upon  as  a reproach  to  those  who  shall 
live  a hundred  years  after  him.  On  the  contrary, 
nothing  can  be  a more  pleasing  thought  to  a 
man  of  eminence,  than  to  consider  that  his  pos- 
terity, who  lie  many  removes  from  him,  shall 
make  their  boasts  of  his  virtues,  and  be  honour- 
ed for  his  sake. 

Virgil  represents  this  consideration  as  an  in- 
centive of  glory  to  iEneas,  when  after  having 
shown  him  the  race  of  heroes  who  were  to  de- 
scend from  him,  Anchises  adds  with  a noble 
warmth, 

* Et  dubitamus  adhuc  virtutem  extendere  factis?’ 

iEn.  vi.  806. 

• And  doubt  we  yet  through  dangers  to  pursue 

The  paths  of  honour  V Dryden. 

Since  I have  mentioned  this  passage  in  Vir- 
gil, where  jEneas  was  entertained  with  the 
view  of  his  great  descendants,  I cannot  forbear 
observing  a particular  beauty,  which  I do  not 
know  that  any  one  has  taken  notice  of.  The 
list  which  he  has  there  drawn  up  was  in  general 
to  do  honour  to  the  Roman  name,  but  more  par- 
ticularly to  compliment  Augustus.  For  this 
reason  Anchises,  who  shows  iEneas  most  of  the 
rest  of  his  descendants  in  the  same  order  tliat 
they  were  to  make  their  appearance  in  the 
world,  breaks  his  method  for  the  sake  of  Au- 
gustus, whom  he  singles  out  immediately  after 
having  mentioned  Romulus,  as  the  most  illus- 
trious person  who  was  to  rise  in  that  empire 
which  the  other  had  founded.  He  was  impatient 
to  describe  his  posterity  raised  to  the  utmost 


pitch  of  glory,  and  therefore  passes  over  all  the 
rest  to  come  at  this  great  man,  whom  by  this 
means  he  implicitly  represents  as  making  the 
most  conspicuous  figure  among  them.  By  this 
artifice  the  poet  did  not  only  give  his  emperor 
the  greatest  praise  he  could  bestow  upon  him ; 
but  hindered  his  reader  from  drawing  a parallel 
which  would  have  been  disadvantageous  to  him, 
had  he  been  celebrated  in  his  proper  place,  that 
is,  after  Pompey  and  Caesar,  who  each  of  them 
eclipsed  the  other  in  military  glory. 

Though  there  have  been  finer  things  spoken 
of  Augustus  than  of  any  other  man,  all  the  wits 
of  his  age  having  tried  to  outrival  one  another 
on  that  subject ; he  never  received  a compli- 
ment, which,  in  my  opinion,  can  be  compared, 
for  sublimity  of  thought,  to  that  which  the  poet 
here  makes  him.  The  English  reader  may  see 
a faint  shadow  of  it  in  Mr.  Dryden’s  translation, 
for  the  original  is  inimitable. 

‘ Ilic  vir,  hie  est,’  &c.  JEn.  vi.  791. 

‘ But  next  behold  the  youth  of  form  divine, 

CjBsar  himself,  exalted  in  his  line  ; 

Augustus,  promised  oft,  and  long  foretold. 

Sent  to  the  realm  that  Saturn  ruled  of  old  ; 

Born  to  restore  a better  age  of  gold. 

Afric  and  India  shall  his  power  obey  ; 

He  shall  extend  his  propagated  sway 
Beyond  the  solar  year,  without  the  starry  way, 
Where  Atlas  turns  the  rolling  heavens  around. 

And  his  broad  shoulders  with  their  lights  are  crowned. 
At  his  foreseen  approach,  already  quake 
The  Caspian  kingdoms  and  Majotian  lake. 

Their  seers  behold  the  tempest  from  afar  ; 

And  threatening  oracles  denounce  the  war. 

Nile  hears  him  knocking  at  his  sevenfold  gates. 

And  seeks  his  hidden  spring,  and  fears  his  nephews’ 
fates. 

Nor  Hercules  more  lands  or  labours  knew. 

Not  though  the  brazen-footed  hind  he  slew  ; 

Freed  Erymanthus  from  the  foaming  boar, 

And  dipped  his  arrows  in  Lernasan  gore. 

Nor  Bacchus  turning  from  his  Indian  war. 

By  tigers  drawn  triumphant  in  his  car. 

From  Nisa’s  top  descending  on  the  plairts, 

With  curling  vines  around  his  purple  reins. 

And  doubt  we  yet  through  dangers  to  pursue 
The  paths  of  honour?’ 

I could  show  out  of  other  poets  the  same  kind 
of  vision  as  this  in  Virgil,  wherein  the  chief 
persons  of  the  poem  have  been  entertained  with 
the  sight  of  those  who  were  to  deseend  from 
them  : but  instead  of  that  I shall  conclude  with 
a rabbinical  story  which  has  in  it  the  oriental 
way  of  thinking,  and  is  therefore  very  amusing. 

Adam,  say  the  rabbins,  a little  after  his  ere- 
ation,  was  presented  with  a view  of  all  those 
souls  who  were  to  be  united  to  human  bodies, 
and  take  their  turn  after  him  upon  the  earth. 
Among  others  the  vision  set  before  him  the  soul 
of  David.  Our  great  ancestor  was  transported 
at  the  sight  of  so  beautiful  an  apparition  ; but 
to  his  unspeakable  grief  was  informed,  that  it 
was  not  to  be  conversant  among  men  the  space 
of  one  year. 

‘ Ostendent  terris  liunc  tantum  fata,  neque  ultra 
Esse  sinent’ -^En.  vi.  869. 

‘ This  youth  (the  blissful  vision  of  a day) 

Shall  just  be  shown  on  earth,  and  snatch’d  away.’ 

Dryden. 

Adam,  to  procure  a longer  life  for  so  fine  a 
piece  of  human  nature,  begged  that  three-score 
and  ten  years  (which  he  heard  would  be  the 


I 


188 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  139. 


age  of  man  in  David’s  time)  might  be  taken 
out  of  his  own  life,  and  added  to  that  of  David. 
Accordingly,  say  the  rabbins,  Adam  falls  short 
of  a thousand  years,  which  was  to  have  been 
the  complete  term  of  his  life,  by  just  so  many 
years  as  make  up  the  life  of  David.  Adam 
having  lived  nine  hundred  and  thirty  years,  and 
David  seventy. 

This  story  was  invented  to  show  the  high 
opinion  which  the  rabbins  entertained  of  this 
man  after  God’s  own  heart,  whom  the  prophet, 
who  was  his  own  contemporary,  could  not  men- 
tion without  rapture,  where  he  records  the  last 
poetical  composition  of  David,  ‘ of  David,  the 
son  of  Jesse,  of  the  man  who  was  raised  up  on 
high,  of  the  anointed  of  the  God  of  Jacob,  of 
the  sweet  psalmist  of  Israel.’  O" 


No.  139.]  Thursday,  August  20,  1713. 

prisca  fides  facto,  sed  fama  perennis. 

Virg.  iEn.  ix.  79. 

The  fact,  through  leneth  of  time  obscure, 

Is  hard  to  faith:  yet  shall  the  same  endure. 

Dryden. 

‘ Most  venerable  Nestor, — I find  that  every 
body  is  very  much  delighted  with  the  voice  of 
your  lion.  His  roarings  against  the  tucker  have 
been  most  melodious  and  emphatical.  It  is  to  be 
hoped,  that  the  ladies  will  take  warning  by 
them,  and  not  provoke  him  to  greater  outrages  ; 
for  I observe,  that  your  lion,  as  you  yourself 
have  told  us,  is  made  up  of  mouth  and  paws. 
For  my  own  part,  I have  long  considered  with 
myself  how  I might  express  my  gratitude  to 
this  noble  animal  that  has  so  much  the  good  of 
our  country  at  his  heart.  After  many  thoughts 
on  this  subject,  I have  at  length  resolved  to  do 
honour  to  him,  by  compiling  a history  of  his 
species,  and  extracting  out  of  all  authors  what- 
ever may  redound  to  his  reputation.  In  the 
prosecution  of  this  design,  I shall  have  no  man- 
ner of  regard  to  what  yEsop  has  said  upon  the 
subject,  whom  I look  upon  to  have  been  a re- 
publican, by  the  unworthy  treatment  which  he 
often  gives  to  the  king  of  beasts,  and  whom,  if 
I had  time,  I could  convict  of  falsehood  and  for- 
gery, in  almost  every  matter  of  fact  which  he 
has  related  of  this  generous  animal.  Your  ro- 
mance writers  are  likewise  a set  of  men  whose 
authority  I shall  build  upon  very  little  in  this 
case.  They  all  of  them  are  born  with  a particu- 
lar antipathy  to  lions,  and  give  them  no  more 
quarter  than  they  do  giants,  wherever  they 
chance  to  meet  them.  There  is  not  one  of  the 
seven  champions,  but  when  he  has  nothing  else 
to  do,  encounters  with  a lion,  and  you  may  be 
sure  always  gets  the  better  of  him.  In  short, 
a knight  errant  lives  in  a perpetual  state  of  en- 
mity with  this  noble  creature,  and  hates  him 
more  than  all  things  upon  the  earth,  except  a 
dragon.  Had  the  stories  recorded  of  them  by 
these  writers  been  true,  the  whole  species  would 
have  been  destroyed  before  now.  After  having 
thus  renounced  all  fabulous  authorities,  I shall 
begin  my  memoirs  of  the  lion  with  a story  re- 
lated of  him  by  Aulus  Gellius,  and  extracted  by 
him  out  of  Dion  Cassius,  a historian  of  undoubt- 


ed veracity.  It  is  the  famous  story  of  Andro- 
cles  the  Roman  slave,  which  I premise  for  the 
sake  of  my  learned  reader,  who  needs  go  no 
farther  in  it,  if  he  has  read  it  already. 

‘ Androcles  was  the  slave  of  a noble  Roman 
who  was  proconsul  of  Afric.  He  had  been  guilty 
of  a fault,  for  v/hich  his  master  would  have  put 
him  to  death,  had  not  he  found  an  opportunity 
to  escape  out  of  liis  hands,  and  fled  into  the  de- 
serts  of  Numidia.  As  he  was  wandering  among 
the  barren  sands,  and  almost  dead  with  heat 
and  hunger,  he  saw  a cave  in  the  side  of  a rock. 
He  went  into  it,  and  finding  at  the  farther  end 
of  it  a place  to  sit  down  upon,  rested  there  for 
sometime.  .At  length,  to  his  great  surprise,  a 
huge  overgrown  lion  entered  at  the  mouth  of 
the  cave,  and  seeing  a man  at  the  upper  end  of 
it,  immediately  made  towards  him.  Androcles 
gave  himself  for  gone ; but  the  lion,  instead  of 
treating  him  as  he  expected,  laid  his  paw  upon 
his  lap,  and,  with  a complaining  kind  of  voice, 
fell  a licking  his  hand.  Androcles,  after  having 
recovered  himself  a little  from  the  fright  he  was 
in,  observed  the  lion’s  paw  to  be  exceedingly 
swelled  by  a large  thorn  that  stuck  in  it.  He 
immediately  pulled  it  out,  and  by  squeezing  the 
paw  very  gently,  made  a great  deal  of  corrupt 
matter  run  out  of  it,  which  probably  freed  the  lion 
from  the  great  anguish  he  had  felt  some  time  be- 
fore. The  lion  left  him  upon  receiving  this  good 
office  from  him,  and  soon  after  returned  with  a 
fawn  which  he  had  just  killed.  This  he  laid  down 
at  the  feet  of  his  benefactor,  and  went  off  again 
in  pursuit  of  his  prey.  Androcles,  after  having 
sodden  the  flesh  of  it  by  the  sun,  subsisted  upon 
it  until  the  lion  had  supplied  him  with  another. 
He  lived  many  days  in  this  frightful  solitude, 
the  lion  catering  for  him  with  great  assiduity. 
Being  tired  at  length  with  this  savage  society, 
he  was  resolved  to  deliver  himself  up  into  his 
master’s  hands,  and  suffer  the  worst  effects  of 
his  displeasure,  rather  than  be  thus  driven  out 
from  mankind.  His  master,  as  was  customary 
for  the  proconsul  of  Afric,  was  at  that  time  get- 
ting together  a present  of  all  the  lai-gest  lions 
that  could  be  found  in  the  country,  in  order  to 
send  them  to  Rome,  that  they  might  furnish 
out  a show  to  the  Roman  people.  Upon  his 
poor  slave’s  surrendering  himself  into  his  hands, 
he  ordered  him  to  be  carried  away  to  Rome  as 
soon  as  the  lions  were  in  readiness  to  be  sent, 
and  that  for  his  crime  he  should  be  exposed  to 
fight  with  one  of  the  lions  in  the  amphitheatre, 
as  usual,  for  the  diversion  of  the  people.  This 
was  all  performed  accordingly.  Androcles,  after 
such  a strange  run  of  fortune,  was  now  in  the 
area  of  the  theatre  amidst  thousands  of  specta- 
tors, expecting  every  moment  when  his  antago- 
nist would  come  out  upon  him.  At  length  a 
huge  monstrous  lion  leaped  out  from  the  place 
where  he  had  been  kept  hungry  for  the  show. 
He  advanced  with  great  rage  towards  the  man, 
but  on  a sudden,  after  having  regarded  him  a 
little  wistfully,  fell  to  the  ground,  and  crept  to- 
wards his  feet  with  all  the  signs  of  blandish- 
ment and  caress.  Androcles,  after  a short  pause, 
discovered  that  it  was  his  old  Numidian  ftiend, 
and  immediately  renewed  his  acquaintance  with 
him.  Their  mutual  congratulations  were  very 
surprising  to  the  beholders,  who,  upon  hearing 


No.  140.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


189 


an  account  of  the  whole  matter  from  Androclcs, 
ordered  him  to  be  pardoned,  and  the  lion  to  be 
given  up  into  his  {wssession.  Androcles  returned 
at  Rome  the  civilities  which  he  had  received 
from  him  in  the  deserts  of  Afric.  Dion  Cassius 
says,  that  he  himself  saw  the  man  leading  the 
lion  about  the  streets  of  Rome,  the  people  every 
where  gathering  about  them,  and  repeating  to 
one  another,  “ Hie  est  leo  hospes  hominis,  hie 
est  homo  medicus  leonis."  “ This  is  the  lion 
who  was  the  man’s  host,  this  is  the  man  who 
was  the  lion’s  physician.”  lO" 


I No.  140.]  Friday^  August  21,  1713. 

I quibus  incendi  jam  frigidus  aevo 

I Laomedontiades,  vel  Nestoris  hernia  possit. 

! Juv.  Sat.  vi.  324. 

I A sight,  might  thaw  old  Priam’s  frozen  age, 

And  warm  ev’n  Nestor  into  amorous  rage. 

T HAVE  lately  received  a letter  from  an  astro- 
loger in  Moorfields,  which  I have  read  W’ith 
great  satisfaction.  He  observes  to  me,  that  my 
I lion  at  Button’s  coffee-house  was  very  luckily 
I erected  in  the  very  month  when  the  sun  was  in 
I Leo.  He  further  adds,  that  upon  conversing 
i with  the  above-mentioned  Mr.  Button,  whose 
other  name  he  observes  is  Daniel,  (a  good  omen 
still  with  regard  to  the  lion,  his  cohabitant,)  he 
had  discovered  the  very  hour  in  which  the  said 
lion  was  set  up : and  that  by  the  help  of  other 
lights,  which  he  had  received  from  the  said  Mr. 
Button,  he  had  been  enabled  to  calculate  the  na- 
tivity of  the  lion.  This  mysterious  philosopher 
acquaints  me,  that  the  sign  of  Leo  in  the  hea- 
vens immediately  precedes  that  of  Virgo,  by 
which,  says  he,  is  signified  the  natural  love  and 
friendship  the  lion  bears  to  virginity  ; and  not 
only  to  virginity,  but  to  such  matrons  likewise 
as  are  pure  and  unspotted ; from  whence  he 
foretells  the  good  influence  which  the  roarings 
of  my  lion  are  likely  to  have  over  the  female 
world,  for  the  purifying  of  their  behaviour,  and 
bettering  of  their  manners.  He  then  proceeds 
to  inform  me,  that  in  the  most  exact  astrologi- 
cal schemes,  the  lion  is  observed  to  affect,  in  a 
more  particular  manner,  the  legs  and  the  neck, 
as  well  as  to  allay  the  power  of  the  scorpion  in 
those  parts  which  are  allotted  to  that  fiery  con- 
stellation. From  hence  he  very  naturally  prog- 
nosticates, that  my  lion  will  meet  with  great 
success  in  the  attacks  he  has  made  on  the  un- 
tuckered stays  and  short  petticoat ; and  that, 
in  a few  months,  there  will  not  be  a female 
bosom  or  ankle  uneovered  in  Great  Britain. 

, He  concludes,  that  by  the  rules  of  his  art  he 
foresaw  five  years  ago,  that  both  the  pope  and 
myself  should  about  this  time  unite  our  endea- 
vours in  this  particular,  and  that  sundry  muta- 
tions and  revolutions  would  happen  in  the  female 
dress. 

I have  another  letter  by  me  from  a person 
of  a more  volatile  and  airy  genius,  who,  finding 
' this  great  propension  in  the  fair  sex  to  go  un- 
covered, and  thinking  it  impossible  to  reclaim 
them  entirely  from  it,  is  for  compounding  the 
matter  with  them,  and  finding  out  a middle  ex- 
pedient between  nakedness  and  clothing.  He 


proposes,  therefore,  that  they  should  imitate 
their  great-grandmothers,  the  Briths  or  Piets, 
and  paint  the  parts  of  their  bodies  which  are 
uncovered,  with  sucli  figures  as  shall  be  most 
to  their  Ikncy.  The  bosom  of  tlie  cof{uette, 
says  he,  may  bear  the  figure  of  a Cupid,  with 
a bow  in  hi^  hand,  and  his  arrow  upon  the 
string.  The  prude  might  have  a Pallas,  with 
a shield  and  gorgon’s  head.  In  short,  by  this 
method,  he  thinks  every  woman  might  make 
very  agreeable  discoveries  of  herself,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  show  us  what  she  would  be  at. 
But,  by  my  correspondent’s  good  leave,  I can 
by  no  means  consent  to  spoil  the  skin  of  my 
pretty  countrywomen.  They  could  find  no 
colours  half  so  charming  as  those  which  are 
natural  to  them  ; and  though,  like  the  old  Piets, 
they  painted  the  sun  itself  upon  their  bodies, 
they  would  still  change  for  the  worse,  and  con- 
ceal something  more  beautiful  than  what  they 
exhibited. 

I shall  therefore  persist  in  my  first  design, 
and  endeavour  to  bring  about  the  reformation 
in  neck  and  legs,  which  I have  so  long  aimed 
at.  Let  them  but  raise  their  stays  and  let 
down  their  petticoats,  and  I have  done.  How- 
ever, as  I will  give  tliem  space  to  consider  of 
it,  I design  this  for  the  last  time  that  my  lion 
shall  roar  upon  the  subject  during  this  season, 
which  I give  public  notice  of  for  the  sake  of 
my  correspondents,  that  they  may  not  be  at  an 
unnecessary  trouble  or  expense  in  furnishing  me 
with  any  informations  relating  to  the  tucker  be- 
fore the  beginning  of  next  winter,  when  I may 
again  resume  that  point,  if  I find  occasion  for  it. 
I shall  not,  hov/ever,  let  it  drop  without  ac- 
quainting my  reader,  that  I have  written  a let- 
ter to  the  pope  upon  it,  in  order  to  encourage 
him  in  his  present  good  intentions,  and  that  we 
may  act  by  concert  in  this  matter.  Here  fol- 
lows the  copy  of  my  letter  : 

‘ To  Pope  Clement  the  Eighth^  Nestor  Ironside^ 
greeting. 

‘ Dear  Brother, — I have  heard  with  great 
satisfaction,  that  you  have  forbidden  your  priests 
to  confess  any  woman  who  appears  before  them 
without  a tucker,  in  which  you  please  me  well. 
I do  agree  with  you,  that  it  is  impossible  for  the 
good  man  to  discharge  his  office  as  he  ought, 
who  gives  an  ear  to  those  alluring  penitents, 
that  discover  their  hearts  and  necks  to  him  at 
the  same  time.  I am  labouring  as  much  as  in 
me  lies  to  stir  up  the  same  spirit  of  modesty 
among  the  wmmen  of  this  island,  and  should  be 
glad  we  might  assist  one  another  in  so  good  a 
work.  In  order  to  it,  I desire  that  you  would 
send  me  over  the  length  of  a Roman  lady’s 
neck,  as  it  stood  before  your  late  prohibition. 
We  have  some  here  who  have  necks  of  one,  two, 
and  three  feet  in  length ; some  that  have  necks 
which  reach  down  to  their  middles,  and  indeed, 
some  who  may  be  said  to  be  all  neck,  and  no 
body.  I hope,  at  the  same  time  you  observe 
the  stays  of  your  female  subjects,  that  you  have 
also  an  eye  to  their  petticoats,  which  rise  in 
this  island  daily.  When  the  petticoat  reaches 
but  to  the  knee,  and  the  stays  fall  to  the  fifth 
rib  (which  I hear  is  to  be  the  standard  of  each, 
as  it  has  been  lately  settled  in  a junto  of  the 


190 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  141. 


sex,)  I will  take  care  to  send  3^ou  one  of  either 
sort,  which  I advertise  you  of  beforehand,  that 
you  may  not  compute  the  stature  of  our  Eng- 
lish women  from  the  length  of  their  garments. 
In  the  mean  time  I have  desired  the  master  of 
a vessel,  who  tells  me  that  he  shall  touch  at 
Civita  Vecchia,  to  present  you  with  a certain 
female  machine  which,  I believe,  will  puzzle 
your  infallibility  to  discover  the  use  of  it.  Not 
to  keep  you  in  suspense,  it  is  what  we  call  in 
this  country  a hooped  petticoat.  I shall  only 
beg  of  you  to  let  me  know,  whether  you  find 
any  garment  of  this  nature  among  all  the  relics 
of  your  female  saints,  and  in  particular,  whether 
it  was  ever  worn  by  any  of  your  twenty  thou- 
sand virgin  martyrs.  Yours,  usque  ad  aras, 
‘NESTOR  IRONSIDE.’ 

I must  not  dismiss  this  letter  without  declar- 
ing myself  a good  Protestant,  as  I hint  in  the 
subscribing  part  of  it.  This  I think  necessary 
to  take  notice  of,  lest  I should  be  accused  by  an 
author  of  unexampled  stupidity,*  for  corres- 
ponding with  the  head  of  the  Romish  chureh. 

o= 


No.  141.]  Saturday,  August  22,  1713. 

Fransre,  miser,  calamos,  vigllataqiie  pr.-elia  dele, 
Q,ui  facis  in  parva  sublimia  carinina  cella, 

Ut  dignus  venius  liederis,  et  imagine  macra. 

Juv.  Sat.  vii.  27. 

Let  flames  on  your  unlucky  papers  prey. 

Or  moths  through  written  pages  eat  their  way  ; 
Your  wars,  } our  loves,  your  praises  be  forgot ; 

And  make  of  all  a universal  blot 

The  rest  is  empty  praise,  an  ivy  crown. 

Or  the  lean  statue  of  a mean  renown.  Ch.  Dryden. 

‘Wit,’  saith  the  bishop  of  Rochester  in  his 
elegant  sermon  against  the  scorner,  ‘ as  it  im- 
plies a certain  uncommon  reach  and  vivacity 
of  thought,  is  an  excellent  talent,  very  fit  to  be 
employed  in  the  search  of  truth,  and  very  ca- 
pable of  assisting  us  to  discern  and  embrace  it.’ 
I shall  take  leave  to  carry^  this  observation  far- 
ther into  common  life,  and  remark,  that  it  is  a 
faculty,  when  properly  directed,  very  fit  to  re- 
commend young  persons  to  the  favour  of  such 
patrons,  as  are  generously  studious  to  promote 
the  interest  of  politeness,  and  the  honour  of 
their  country.  I am  therefore  much  grieved 
to  hear  the  frequent  complaints  of  some  rising 
authors,  whom  I have  taken  under  my  guar- 
dianship. Since  my  circumstances  will  not 
allow  me  to  give  them  due  encouragement,  I 
must  take  upon  me  the  person  of  a philosopher, 
and  make  them  a present  of  mj'  advice.  I 
would  not  have  any  ])oet  whatsoever,  who  is  not 
born  to  five  hundred  a-year,  deliver  himself  up 
to  wit,  but  as  it  is  subservient  to  the  improvement 
of  his  fortune.  Tliis  talent  is  useful  in  all  pro- 
fessions, and  should  be  considered  not  as  a wife, 
but  as  an  attendant.  Let  them  take  an  old 
man’s  word  ; the  desire  of  fame  grows  languid 
in  a few  years,  and  thoughts  of  ease  and  conve- 
nience erase  the  fairy  images  of  glory  and  ho- 
nour. Even  those  who  have  succeeded  both  in 
fame  and  fortune,  look  back  on  the  petty  trifles 


of  their  youth  ivitli  some  regret,  when  their 
minds  are  turned  to  more  exalted  and  useful 
speculations.  This  is  admirably  expressed  in 
the  following  lines,  by  axi  author*  whom  I have 
formerly  done  justice  to  on  the  account  of  his 
pastoral  poems. 

In  search  of  wisdom,  far  from  wit  I fly  ; 

AVit  is  a harlot  beauteous  to  the  eye. 

In  whose  bewitching  arms  our  early  time 
We  waste,  and  vigour  of  our  youthful  prime. 

But  when  reflection  comes  with  riper  years. 

And  manhood  with  a thoughtful  brow  apjxears. 

We  cast  the  mistress  off  to  take  a wife. 

And,  wed  to  wisdom,  lead  a happy  life. 

A passage  which  happened  to  me  some  years 
ago  confirmed  several  maxims  of  frugality  in 
my  mind.  A woollen-draper  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, remarkable  for  his  learning  and  good- 
nature, pulled  out  his  pocket-book,  wherein  he 
showed  me  at  the  one  end  several  well  chosen 
mottos,  and  several  patterns  of  cloth  at  the 
other.  I,  like  a well-bred  man,  praised  both 
sorts  of  goods ; whereupon  he  tore  out  the 
mottos,  and  generously  gave  them  to  me  : but, 
with  great  prudence,  put  up  the  patterns  in  his 
pocket  again. 

I am  sensible  that  any  accounts  of  my  own 
secret  history  can  have  but  little  weight  with 
}mung  men  of  sanguine  expectations.  I shall 
therefore  take  this  opportunity  to  present  my 
wards  with  the  history  of  an  ancient  Greek 
poet,  wdxich  was  sent  me  from  the  library  of 
Fez,  and  is  to  be  found  there  in  the  end  of  a 
ver}'  ancient  manuscript  of  Homer’s  works, 
which  was  brought  by  the  barbarians  from 
Constantinople.  The  name  of  the  poet  is  torn 
out,  nor  have  the  critics  yet  determined  it.  I 
have  faithfully  translated  part  of  it,  and  desire 
that  it  ma}'  be  diligently  perused  by  all  men 
who  design  to  live  by  their  wits. 

‘ I was  born  at  the  foot  of  a certain  mountain 
in  Greece,  called  Parnassus,  where  the  country 
is  remarkably  delicious.  My  mother,  w’hile  she 
was  with  child  of  me  longed  for  laurel  leaves  ; 
and  as  I lay  in  my  cradle,  a swarm  of  bees 
settled  about  my  mouth,  without  doing  me  any 
injury.  These  were  looked  upon  as  presages 
of  my  being  a great  man ; and  the  early  pro- 
mises I gave  of  a quick  wut,  and  lively  fancy, 
confirmed  the  high  opinion  my  friends  had 
conceived  of  me.  It  w’ould  be  an  idle  tale  to 
relate  the  trifling  adventures  of  my  youth,  until 
I arrived  at  my  twentieth  j’ear.  It  W’as  then 
that  the  love  I bore  to  a beautiful  young  virgin, 
with  whom  I had  innocently  and  familiarly 
conversed  from  my  childhood,  became  the  pub- 
lic talk  of  our  village.  I was  so  taken  up  with 
my  passion,  that  I entirely  neglected  all  other 
affairs  ; and  though  the  daughter  of  Machaon 
the  physician,  and  a rich  heiress,  the  daughter 
of  a famous  Grecian  orator,  were  offered  me 
in  marriage,  I peremptorily  refused  both  the 
matches,  and  rashl}'  vowed  to  live  and  die  with 
the  lovely  Polyhymnia.  In  vain  did  my  parents 
remonstrate  to  me,  that  the  tradition  of  her  be- 
ing descended  from  the  gods  was  too  poor  a 
portion  for  one  of  my  narrow  fortunes  ; that 
except  her  fine  green-house  and  garden,  she  had 
not  one  foot  of  land  ; and  though  she  should  gain 


* The  writer  of  the  Examiner  is  here  alluded  to. 


Mr.  Ambrose  Philips. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


191 


No.  142.] 

the  lawsuit  about  the  summit  of  Parnassus, 
(which  yet  had  many  pretenders  to  it)  that  the 
air  was  so  bleak  there,  and  the  ground  so  bar- 
ren, that  it  would  certainly  starve  the  possessor. 
I fear  my  obstinacy  in  this  particular  broke  my 
mother’s  heart,  who  died  a short  time  after,  and 
was  soon  followed  by  my  father. 

‘ I now  found  myself  at  liberty,  and  notwith- 
standing the  opposition  of  a great  many  rivals, 
I won  and  enjoyed  Polyhymnia.  Our  amour 
was  known  to  the  whole  country,  and  all  w’ho 
saw,  extolled  the  beauty  of  my  mistress,  and 
pronounced  me  happy  in  the  possession  of  so 
many  charms.  We  lived  in  great  splendour 
and  gayety,  I being  persuaded  that  high  living 
was  necessary  to  keep  up  my  reputation,  and 
the  beauty  of  my  mistress ; from  whom  I had 
daily  expectations  given  me  of  a post  in  the 
government,  or  some  lavish  present  from  the 
great  men  of  our  commonwealth.  I was  so 
proud  of  my  partner,  that  I was  perpetually 
bringing  company  to  see  her,  and  was  a little 
tiresome  to  my  acquaintance,  by  talking  con- 
tinually of  her  several  beauties.  She  herself 
had  a most  exalted  conceit  of  her  charms,  and 
often  invited  the  ladies  to  ask  their  opinions  of 
her  dress  ; which  if  they  disapproved  in  any 
particular,  she  called  them  a pack  of  envious 
insipid  things,  and  ridiculed  them  in  all  compa- 
nies. She  had  a delicate  set  of  teeth,  which 
appeared  most  to  advantage  when  she  was  an- 
gry; and  therefore  she  was  very  often  in  a 
passion.  By  this  imprudent  behaviour,  when 
we  had  run  out  of  our  money,  we  had  no  living 
soul  to  befriend  us  ; and  every  body  cried  out, 
it  was  a judgment  upon  me  for  being  a slave  to 
such  a proud  minx,  such  a conceited  hussy. 

‘ I loved  her  passionately,  and  exclaimed 
against  a blind  and  injudicious  world.  Besides 
I had  several  children  by  her,  and  was  likely 
still  to  have  more  ; for  I always  thought  the 
youngest  the  most  beautiful.  I must  not  forget 
that  a certain  great  lord  offered  me  a consider- 
able sum  in  my  necessity,  to  have  the  reputation 
of  fathering  one  of  them  ; but  I rejected  his 
offer  with  disdain.  In  order  to  support  her  fa- 
mily and  vanities,  she  carried  me  to  Athens ; 
where  she  put  me  upon  a hundred  pranks  to 
get  money.  Sometimes  she  dressed  me  in  an 
antique  robe,  and  placed  a diadem  on  my  head, 
and  made  me  gather  a mob  about  me  by  talking 
in  a blustering  tone,  and  unintelligible  lan- 
guage. Sometimes  she  made  me  foam  at  the 
mouth,  roll  my  eyes,  invoke  the  gods,  and  act 
a sort  of  madness  which  the  Atlienians  call  the 
Pindarisrn.  At  another  time  she  put  a sheep- 
hook  into  my  hand,  and  drove  me  round  my 
garret,  calling  it  the  plains  of  Arcadia.  When 
these  projects  failed,  she  gave  out,  with  good 
success,  that  I was  an  old  astrologer ; after  that 
a dumb  man  ; and  last  of  all  she  made  me  pass 
for  a lion. 

‘ It  may  seem  strange,  that  after  so  tedious  a 
slavery,  I should  ever  get  rny  freedom.  But  so 
it  happened,  that  during  the  three  last  trans- 
formations, I grew  acquainted  with  the  lady 
Sophia,  whose  superior  charms  cooled  my  pas- 
sion for  Polyhymnia;  insomuch  that  some  en- 
vious dull  fellows  gave  it  out,  my  mistress  had 
jilted  and  left  me.  But  the  slanders  of  my 


enemies  were  silenced  by  my  public  espousal 
of  Sophia ; who,  with  a greatness  of  soul,  void 
of  all  jealousy, hath  taken  Polyhymnia  for  her 
woman,  and  is  dressed  by  her  every  day.’ 


No.  142.]  Monday^  August  24,  1713. 

Pads  mala;  sfevior  arniis 

Luxuria  incubuit,  victurnque  uldsdtiir — 

Juv.  Sat.  vi.  291. 

Th’  inveterate  ills  of  peace, 

And  wasteful  riot;  whose  destructive  charms 
Revenge  the  vanquish'd Dryden. 

Being  obliged,  at  present,  to  attend  a particu- 
lar affair  of  my  own,  I do  empower  my  printer 
to  look  into  the  arcana  of  the  lion,  and  select 
out  of  them  such  as  may  be  of  public  utility  ; 
and  Mr.  Button  is  hereby  authorised  and  com- 
manded to  give  my  said  printer  free  ingress  and 
egress  to  the  lion,  without  any  hinderance,  let, 
or  molestation  whatsoever,  until  such  time  as 
he  shall  receive  orders  to  the  contrary.  And 
for  so  doing  this  shall  be  his  warrant. 

NESTOR  IRONSIDE. 

‘ By  virtue  of  the  foregoing  order,  the  lion 
has  been  carefully  examined,  and  the  two  fol- 
lowing papers  being  found  upon  him,  are 
thought  very  proper  for  public  use.’ 

Given  in  at  the  lion's  mouth,  at  six  of  the  clock 
in  the  morning. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — I came  very  early  this  morn- 
ing to  rouse  your  lion,  thinking  it  the  properest 
time  to  offer  him  trash  when  his  stomach  was 
empty  and  sharp  set;  and  being  informed,  too, 
that  he  is  so  very  modest,  as  to  be  shy  of  swal- 
lowing any  thing  before  much  company,  and  not 
without  some  other  politic  views,  the  principal 
of  which  was,  that  his  digestion  being  then  the 
most  keen  and  vigorous,  it  might  probably  re- 
fine this  raw  piece  from  several  of  its  crudities, 
and  so  make  it  proper  food  for  his  master ; for 
as  great  princes  keep  their  taster,  so  I perceive 
you  keep  your  digester,  having  an  appetite  pe- 
culiarly turned  for  delicacies.  If  ev fellow-feeling 
and  similitude  of  employment  are  any  motives 
to  engage  your  attention,  I may  for  once  pro- 
mise myself  a favourable  hearing.  By  the  ac- 
count you  have  given  us  of  the  Sparkler,  and 
your  other  female  wards,  I am  pretty  confident 
you  cannot  be  a stranger  to  the  many  great  dif- 
ficulties tliere  are  in  weaning  a young  lady’s 
inclination  from  a frolic  which  she  is  fully  bent 
upon.  I am  guardian  to  a young  heiress,  whose 
conduct  I am  more  than  ordinary  solicitous  to 
keep  steady  in  the  slippery  age  we  live  in.  I 
must  confess  miss  hath  hitherto  been  very  tract- 
able and  toward,  considering  she  is  an  heiress, 
and  now  upon  the  brink  of  fifteen  : but  here  of 
late  Tom  Whirligig  has  so  turned  her  head  with 
the  gallantries  of  a late  masquerade,  (which  no 
doubt  Tom,  according  to  his  usual  vivacity,  set 
forth  in  all  its  gayest  colours)  that  the  young 
creature  has  been  perfectly  giddy  ever  since, 
and  so  set  agog  with  the  thoughts  of  it,  that  I 
am  teased  to  death  by  her  importuning  me  to 
let  her  go  to  the  next.  In  the  mean  time,  I have 


192 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


surprised  her  more  than  once  or  twice  very  busy 
in  pulling  all  her  clothes  to  pieces,  in  order  to 
make  up  a strange  dress,  and  with  much  ado 
have  reprieved  them  from  her  merciless  scis- 
sors.  Now  you  must  understand,  old  Iron,  I 
am  very  loth  to  trust  her  all  alone  into  such  an 
ocean  of  temptations.  I have  made  use  of  all 
manner  of  dissuasives  to  her,  and  have  suffi- 
ciently demonstrated  to  her,  that  the  devil  first 
addressed  himself  to  Eve  in  a mask,  and  that 
we  owe  the  loss  of  our  first  happy  state  to  a 
masquerade,  which  that  sly  intriguer  made  in 
the  garden,  where  he  seduced  her;  but  she  does 
not  at  all  regard  all  this;  the  passion  of  curiosity 
is  as  predominant  in  her  as  ever  it  was  in  her  pre- 
decessor. Therefore  I appeal,  sage  Nestor,  to 
your  experienced  age,  whether  these  nocturnal 
assemblies  have  not  a bad  tendency,  to  give  a 
loose  turn  to  a young  lady’s  imagination.  For 
the  being  in  disguise  takes  away  the  usual 
checks  and  restraints  of  modesty  ; and  conse- 
quently the  beaux  do  not  blush  to  talk  wanton- 
ly, nor  the  belles  to  listen  ; the  one  as  greedily 
sucks  in  the  poison,  as  the  other  industriously 
infuses  it;  and  I am  apt  to  think  too,  that  the 
ladies  might  possibly  forget  their  own  selves  in 
such  strange  dresses,  and  do  that  in  a person- 
ated character  which  may  stain  their  real  ones. 
A young  milk-maid  may  indulge  herself  in  the 
innocent  freedom  of  a green  gown ; and  a shep- 
herdess, without  thinking  any  harm,  may  lie 
down  with  a shepherd  on  a mossy-bank ; and 
all  this  while  poor  Sylvia  may  be  so  far  lost  in 
the  pleasing  thoughts  of  her  new  romantic  at- 
tire, and  Damon’s  soft  endearing  language,  as 
never  once  to  reflect  who  she  is,  until  the  ro- 
mance is  completed.  Besides,  do  but  consider, 
dear  Nestor,  when  a young  lady’s  spirits  are 
fermented  with  sparkling  champaign,  her  heart 
opened  and  dilated  by  the  attractive  gayety  of 
every  thing  about  her,  her  soul  melted  away  by 
the  soft  airs  of  music,  and  the  gentle  powers  of 
motion ; in  a word,  the  whole  woman  dissolved 
in  a luxury  of  pleasure ; I say,  in  such  critical 
circumstances,  in  such  unguarded  moments, 
how  easy  is  it  for  a young  thing  to  be  led  aside 
by  her  stars.  Therefore,  good  Mr.  Ironside,  set 
your  lion  a roaring  against  these  dangerous  as- 
semblies : I can  assure  you,  one  good  loud  roar 
will  be  sufficient  to  deter  my  ward  from  them, 
for  she  is  naturally  mighty  fearful,  and  has  been 
always  used  from  her  childhood  to  be  frightened 
into  good  behaviour.  And  it  may  prove,  too, 
some  benefit  to  yourself  in  the  management  of 
your  own  females,  who,  if  they  are  not  already, 
I do  not  at  all  question,  but  they  will  be  very 
shortly  gadding  after  these  midnight  gambols. 
Therefore,  to  promote  your  own  peace  and  qui- 
etness, as  well  as  mine,  and  the  safety  of  all 
young  virgins,  pray  order  your  lion  to  exert  his 
loudest  notes  against  masquerades  ; I am  sure 
it  would  be  a perfect  concert  to  all  good  mo- 
thers, and  particularly  charm  the  ears  of  your 
faithful  friend  and  companion, 

‘ OLD  RUSTISIDES.’ 

‘ Most  worthy  Sir, — Being  informed  that  the 
Eveites  daily  increase,  and  that  fig-leaves  are 
shortly  coming  into  fashion;  I have  hired  me  a 
piece  of  ground,  and  planted  it  with  fig-trees. 


[No.  143. 

the  soil  being  naturally  productive  of  them.  I 
hope,  good  sir,  you  will  so  far  encourage  my 
new  project,  as  to  acquaint  the  ladies,  that  I 
have  now  by  me  a choice  collection  of  fig-leaves 
of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  of  a delicate  texture,  and 
a lovely  bright  verdure,  beautifully  scolloped  at 
the  extremities,  and  most  curiously  wrought 
with  variety  of  slender  fibres,  ranged  in  beau- 
tiful meanders  and  windings.  I have  some  very 
cool  ones  for  summer,  so  transparently  thin, 
that  you  may  see  through  them,  and  others  of 
a thicker  substance  for  winter ; I have  likewise 
some  very  small  ones,  of  a particular  species, 
for  little  misses.  So  that  I do  not  question  but 
to  give  general  satisfaction  to  all  ladies  what- 
soever, that  please  to  repair  to  me  at  the  sign 
of  the  Adam  and  Eve,  near  Cupid’s  gardens.  If 
you  will  favour  me  with  the  insertion  of  this  in 
your  Guardian,  I will  make  your  favourite,  the 
Sparkler,  a present  of  some  of  the  choicest  fig- 
leaves  I have,  and  lay  before  her  feet  the  pri- 
initiae  of  ray  new  garden ; and  if  you  bring  me 
a great  many  customers  for  my  leaves,  I pro- 
mise you  my  figs  shall  be  at  your  service.  I 
arn,  worthy  sir,  your  worship’s  most  obedient 
humble  servant, 

‘ANTHONY  EVERGREEN. 

‘ N.  B.  I am  now  rearing  up  a set  of  fine 
furbelowed  dock-leaves,  which  will  be  exceed- 
ing proper  for  old  women  and  superannuated 
maids ; those  plants  having  two  excellent  good 
properties ; the  one,  that  they  flourish  best  in 
dry  ground ; the  other,  that  being  clothed  with 
several  integuments  of  downy  surfaces,  they  are 
exceeding  warm  and  cherishing.’ 


No.  143.]  Tuesday,  August  25,  1713. 

Quis  fait,  horrendos  primus  qui  protulit  enses? 

Gtuain  ferus,  et  vere  ferreus,  ille  fuit! 

Tibul.  Lib.  1.  Eleg.  x.  1. 

Who  first,  with  skill  inhuman,  did  produce, 

And  teach  mankind  the  sword’s  destructive  use  ? 

W’^hat  sense  of  pity  could  the  monster  feel! 

Himself  relentless  as  the  murd’rous  steel! 

Notwithstanding  the  levity  of  the  pun  which 
is  in  the  second  line  of  my  motto,  the  subject  I 
am  going  upon  is  of  the  most  serious  conse- 
quence, and  concerns  no  less  than  the  peace  and 
quiet,  and  (for  aught  I know)  the  very  life  and 
safety,  of  every  inoffensive  and  weii-disposed  in- 
habitant of  this  city.  Frequent  complaints  have 
been  made  to  me,  by  men  of  discretion  and  so- 
briety, in  most  of  the  coffee-houses  from  St. 
James’s  to  Jonathan’s,  that  there  is  sprung  up 
of  late  a very  numerous  race  of  young  fellows 
about  the  town,  who  have  the  confidence  to  walk 
the  streets,  and  come  into  all  public  places  in 
open  day-light,  with  swords  of  such  immoderate 
length,  as  strike  terror  into  a great  many  of  her 
majesty’s  good  subjects.  Besides  this,  half  a 
dozen  of  this  fraternity  in  a room  or  a narrow 
street,  are  as  inconvenient  as  so  many  turn- 
stiles, because  you  can  pass  neither  backward 
nor  forward,  until  you  have  first  put  their  wea- 
pons aside.  When  Jack  Lizard  made  his  first 
trip  to  town  from  the  university,  he  thought  he 
could  never  bring  up  with  him  too  much  of  the 


1^0.  144.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


193 


gentleman ; this  I soon  perceived  in  the  first 
visit  he  made  me,  when  I remember,  he  came 
scraping  in  at  the  door,  encumbered  with  a bar 
of  cold  iron  so  irksomely  long,  that  it  banged 
against  his  calf,  and  jarred  upon  his  right 
heel,  as  he  walked,  and  came  rattling  behind 
him  as  he  ran  down  the  stairs.  But  his  sister 
Annabella’s  raillery  soon  cured  him  of  this  awk- 
ward  air,  by  telling  him  that  his  sword  was  only 
fit  for  going  up  stairs,  or  walking  up  hill,  and 
that  she  shrewdly  suspected  he  had  stolen  it 
out  of  the  college  kitchen. 

But  to  return  to  the  public  grievance  of  this 
city;  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  these  ‘brothers 
of  the  blade’  began  to  appear  upon  the  first  sus- 
pension of  arms;  and  that  since  the  conclusion 
of  the  peace  the  order  is  very  much  increased, 
both  as  to  the  number  of  the  men,  and  the  size 
of  their  weapons.  I am  informed,  that  these 
men  of  preposterous  bravery,  who  affect  a mili- 
tary air  in  a profound  peace,  and  dare  to  look 
terrible  amongst  their  friends  and  fellow-citi- 
zens, have  formed  a plan  to  erect  themselves 
into  a society,  under  the  name  of  the  Terrible 
Club ; and  that  they  entertain  hopes  of  getting 
the  great  armoury-hall  in  the  tower  for  their  club- 
room.  Upon  this  I have  made  it  my  business 
to  inquire  more  particularly  into  the  cabals  of 
these  Hectors ; and  by  the  help  of  my  lion,  I 
have  got  such  informations  as  will  enable  me  to 
countermine  their  designs,  together  with  a copy 
of  some  fundamental  articles  drawn  up  by  three 
of  their  ringleaders ; the  which  it  seems  are  to 
be  augmented  and  assented  to  by  the  rest  of  the 
gang,  on  the  first  of  January  next,  (if  not  timely 
prevented)  at  a general  meeting  in  the  sword- 
cutlers’  hall.  I shall  at  present  (to  let  them  see 
that  they  are  not  unobserved)  content  myself 
with  publishing  only  the  said  articles. 

Articles  to  he  agreed  upon  hy  the  Members  of 
the  Terrible  Club. 

Imprimis,  That  the  club  do  meet  at  midnight 
in  the  great  armoury-hall  in  the  tower,  (if  leave 
can  be  obtained)  the  first  Monday  in  every 
month. 

II.  That  the  president  be  seated  upon  a drum 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  accoutred  with  a 
helmet,  a basket-hilt  sword,  and  a buff  belt. 

III.  That  the  president  be  always  obliged  to 
provide,  for  the  first  and  standing  dish  of  the 
club,  a pasty  of  bull  beef,  baked  in  a target  made 
for  that  purpose. 

IV.  That  the  members  do  cut  their  meat  with 
bayonets  instead  of  knives. 

V.  That  every  member  do  sit  to  the  table,  and 
eat  with  his  hat,  his  sword,  and  his  gloves  on. 

VI.  That  there  be  no  liquor  drank  but  rack- 
punch,  quickened  with  brandy  and  gunpowder. 

VII.  That  a large  mortar  be  made  use  of  for 
a punch-bowl. 

In  all  appearance  it  could  be  no  other  than  a 
member  of  this  club,  who  came  last  week  to 
Button’s,  and  sat  over-against  the  lion  w’ith  such 
a settled  fierceness  in  his  countenance,  as  if  he 
came  to  vie  with  that  animal  in  sternness  of 
looks.  His  stature  was  somewhat  low  ; his  mo- 
tions quick  and  smart,  and  might  be  mistaken 
for  startings  and  convulsions.  He  wore  a broad 


stiff  hat,  cudgel-proof,  with  an  edging  three 
fingers  deep,  trussed  up  into  the  fierce  trooper’s 
cock.  To  this  was  added  a dark  wig,  very  mo- 
derately curled,  and  tied  in  two  large  knots  up 
to  his  ears;  his  coat  was  short,  and  rich  in  tar- 
nished lace  ; his  nostrils  and  his  upper  lip  were 
all  begrimmed  with  snuff.  At  first  I was  in 
hopes  the  gentleman’s  friends  took  care  not  to 
intrust  him  with  any  weapon  ; until  looking 
down,  I could  perceive  a sword  of  a most  un- 
warrantable size,  that  hung  carelessly  below  his 
knee,  with  two  large  tassels  at  the  hilt,  that 
played  about  his  ankles. 

I must  confess  I cannot  help  shrew’dly  sus- 
pecting  the  courage  of  the  Terribles.  I beg 
pardon  if  I am  in  the  wrong  when  I think,  that 
the  long  sword,  and  the  swaggering  cock,  are 
the  ordinary  disguises  of  a faint  heart.  These 
men  while  they  think  to  impose  terror  upon 
others,  do  but  render  themselves  contemptible; 
their  very  dress  tells  you  that  they  are  surround- 
ed with  fears,  that  they  live  in  Hobbs’s  state 
of  nature,  and  that  they  are  never  free  from  ap- 
prehensions. I dare  say,  if  one  were  to  look 
into  the  hearts  of  these  champions,  one  should 
find  there  a great  tendency  to  go  cased  in 
armour,  and  that  nothing  but  the  fear  of  a 
stronger  ridicule  restrains  them  from  it.  A 
brave  man  scorns  to  wear  any  thing  that  may 
give  him  an  advantage  over  his  neighbour  ; his 
great  glory  is  neither  to  fear,  nor  to  be  feared. 
I remember,  when  I was  abroad,  to  have  seen 
a buffoon  in  an  opera,  whose  excessive  coward- 
ice never  failed  to  set  the  whole  audience  into  a 
loud  laughter  ; but  the  scene  which  seemed  to 
divert  them  most,  was  that  in  which  he  came 
on  with  a sword  that  reached  quite  across  the 
stage,  and  was  put  to  flight  by  an  adversary, 
whose  stature  was  not  above  four  feet  high,  and 
whose  weapon  was  not  three  feet  long.  This 
brings  to  my  mind  w'hat  I have  formerly  read 
of  a king  of  Arabia,  who  showing  a rich  sword, 
that  had  been  presented  to  him,  his  courtiers 
unanimously  gave  their  opinion,  that  it  had  no 
other  fault,  but  that  of  being  too  short ; upon 
which  the  king’s  son  said,  that  there  was  no 
weapon  too  short  for  a brave  man,  since  there 
needed  no  more  but  to  advance  one  step  to  make 
it  long  enough.  To  this  I shall  subjoin,  by  way 
of  corollary,  that  there  is  no  weapon  long  enough 
for  a coward,  who  never  thinks  himself  secure 
while  he  is  within  sight  of  his  adversary’s  point. 

I would  therefore  advise  these  men  of  distant 
courage,  as  they  tender  their  honour,  to  shorten 
their  dimensions,  and  reduce  their  tilters  to  a 
more  reputable,  as  well  as  a more  portable  size. 


No.  1 44.]  Wednesday,  August  26,  1713. 

Sua  cuique  qiium  sit  animi  cositatio, 

Colorque  privus Phadr.  Prol.  Lib.  v.  7. 

Every  man  has  kis  peculiar  way  of  thinking  and  acting. 

It  is  a very  just,  and  a common  observation 
upon  the  natives  of  this  island,  that  in  their 
different  degrees,  and  in  their  several  professions 
and  employments,  they  abound  as  much  and 
perhaps  more,  in  good  sense  than  any  people ; 
and  yet,  at  the  same  time  there  is  scarce  an 
17 


194 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  145. 


Englishman  of  any  life  and  spirit,  that  has  not 
some  odd  cast  of  thought,  some  original  humour 
that  distinguishes  him  from'  his  neighbour. 
Hence  it  is  that  our  comedies  are  enriched  with 
such  a diversity  of  characters,  as  is  not  to  be 
seen  upon  any  other  theatre  in  Europe.  Even 
in  tlie  masquerades  that  have  been  lately  given 
to  the  town  (though  they  are  diversions  we  are 
not  accustomed  to)  the  singularities  of  dress 
were  carried  much  farther  than  is  usual  in 
foreign  countries,  where  the  natives  are  trained 
up,  as  it  were,  from  their  infancy  to  those  atnuse- 
ments.  The  v^ery  same  measure  of  understand- 
ing, the  very  same  accomplishments,  the  very 
same  defects,  shall,  amongst  us,  appear  under  a 
quite  ditferent  aspect  in  one  man,  to  what  they 
do  in  another.  Tliis  makes  it  as  impracticable 
to  foreigners  to  enter  into  a thorough  knowledge 
of  the  English,  as  it  would  be  to  learn  the  Chi- 
nese language,  in  which  there  is  a ditferejit  cha- 
racter for  every  individual  word.  I know  not 
how  to  explain  this  vein  of  huniour  so  obvious 
in  my  countrymen,  better  than  by  comparing  it 
to  what  the  French  call  Le  gout  du  ierroir  in 
wines,  by  which  they  mean  the  ditferent  flavour 
one  and  the  same  grape  shall  draw  from  the 
different  soils  in  which  it  is  planted.  This  na- 
tional mark  is  visible  amongst  us  in  every  rank 
and  degree  of  men,  from  the  persons  of  the  first 
quality  and  politest  sense,  down  to  the  rudest 
and  most  ignorant  of  the  people.  Every  me- 
chanic has  a peculiar  cast  of  head  and  turn  of 
wit,  or  some  uncommon  whim,  as  a character- 
istic that  distinguishes  him  from  others  of  his 
trade,  as  well  as  from  the  multitudes  that  are 
upon  a level  with  him.  We  have  a small-coal- 
man, who  from  beginning  with  two  plain  notes, 
which  made  up  his  daily  cry,  has  made  himself 
master  of  the  whole  compass  of  the  gamut,  and 
has  frequent  concerts  of  music  at  his  own  house, 
for  the  entertainment  of  himself  and  his  friends. 
There  is  a person  of  great  hospitality,  who  lives 
in  a plastered  cottage  upon  the  road  to  Hamp- 
Btead,  and  gets  a superfluity  of  wealth,  by  ac- 
commodating holiday  passengers  wuth  ale,  bran- 
dy, pipes,  tobacco,  cakes,  gingerbread,  apples, 
pears,  and  other  small  refreshments  of  life  ; and 
on  worky-days  takes  the  air  in  his  chaise,  and 
recreates  himself  with  the  elegant  pleasures  of 
the  beaumonde.  The  shining  men  amongst  our 
mob,  dignified  by  the  title  of  ringleaders,  have 
an  inexhaustible  fund  of  archness  and  raillery  ; 
as  likewise  have  our  sailors  and  watermen.  Our 
very  street-beggars  are  not  without  their  pecu- 
liar oddities,  as  the  schoolmen  term  them.  The 
other  day  a tattered  wag  followed  me  across  the 
Mews  with  ‘ one  farthing  or  halfpenny,  good 
your  honour,  do  your  honour  ; and  I shall  make 
bold  to  pray  for  you.’ 

Shakspeare  (who  was  a great  copier  of  na- 
ture) whenever  he  introduces  any  artisans  or 
low  characters  into  his  plays,  never  fails  to  dash 
them  strongly  with  some  distinguishing  strain 
of  humour,  as  may  be  seen  more  remarkably  in 
the  scene  of  the  grave-diggers  in  Hamlet. 

Though  this  singularity  of  temper,  which 
runs  through  the  generality  of  us,  may  make 
us  seem  whimsical  to  strangers  ; yet  it  furnishes 
out  a perpetual  change  of  entertainment  to  our- 
selves, and  diversifies  all  our  conversations  with 


such  a variety  of  mirth,  as  is  not  to  be  met  with 
in  any  other  country.  Sir  William  Temple,  in 
his  Essay  upon  Poetry,  endeavours  to  account 
for  the  British  humours  in  the  following  manner: 
‘ This  may  proceed  from  the  native  plenty  of 
our  soil,  the  unequalness  of  our  climate,  as  well 
as  the  ease  of  our  government,  and  the  liberty 
of  professing  opinions  and  factions,  which  per- 
haps our  neighbours  have  about  them,  but  are 
forced  to  disguise,  and  thereby  may  come  in 
time  to  be  extinguished.  Thus  we  come  to  have 
more  originals,  and  more  that  appear  what  they 
are.  We  have  more  humour,  because  every  man 
follovvs  his  own,  and  takes  a pleasure,  perhaps  a 
pride,  to  show  it.  On  the  contrary,  where  the 
people  are  generally  poor,  and  forced  to  hard 
labour,  their  actions  and  lives  are  all  of  a piece. 
Where  they  serve  hard  masters,  they  must  fol- 
low their  examples,  as  well  as  commands,  and 
are  forced  upon  imitation  in  small  matters,  as 
well  as  obedience  in  great : so  that  some  nations 
look  as  if  they  were  cast  all  by  one  mould,  or 
cut  out  all  by  one  pattern,  at  least  the  common 
people  in  one,  and  the  gentlemen  in  another. 
They  seem  all  of  a sort  in  their  habits,  their 
customs,  and  even  their  talk  and  conversation, 
as  well  as  in  the  application  and  pursuit  of  their 
actions,  and  their  lives.  Besides  all  this,  there 
is  another  sort  of  variety  amongst  us,  which 
arises  from  our  climate,  and  the  dispositions  it 
naturally  produces.  We  are  not  only  more  un- 
like one  another,  than  any  nation  I know;  but 
we  are  more  unlike  ourselves  too,  at  several 
times,  and  owe  to  our  very  air  some  ill  qualities, 
as  well  as  many  good.’ 

Ours  is  the  only  country,  perhaps,  in  the 
whole  world,  where  every  man,  rich  and  poor, 
dares  to  have  a humour  of  his  own,  and  to  avow 
it  upon  all  occasions.  I make  no  doubt,  but  that 
it  is  to  this  great  freedom  of  temper,  and  this 
unconstrained  manner  of  living,  that  we  owe  in 
a great  measure,  the  number  of  shining  geni- 
uses, which  rise  up  amongst  us  from  time  to 
time,  in  the  several  arts  and  sciences,  for  the 
service  and  for  the  ornament  of  life.  This  frank 
arid  generous  disposition  in  a people,  will  like- 
wise never  fall  to  keep  up  in  their  minds  an 
aversion  to  slavery,  and  be,  as  it  were,  a stand- 
ing bulwark  of  their  liberties.  So  long  as  ever 
wit  and  humour  continue,  and  the  generality  of 
us  will  have  their  own  way  of  thinking,  speak- 
ing, and  acting,  this  nation  is  not  like  to  give 
any  quarter  to  an  invader,  and  much  less  to 
bear  with  the  absurdities  of  popery,  in  exchange 
for  an  established  and  a reasonable  faith. 


No.  145.]  Thursday^  August  21,  1713. 

Jura  neget  sibi  nata,  nihil  non  arroget  armis. 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  v.  122. 

Scorning  all  judges,  and  all  law,  but  arms. 

Roscommon. 

AmoxVgst  the  several  challenges  and  letters 
which  my  paper  of  the  twenty-fifth  has  brought 
upon  me,  there  happens  to  be  one,  which  I know 
not  well  what  to  make  of.  I am  doubtful  whe- 
ther it  is  the  archness  of  some  wag,  or  the  seri- 


No.  145.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


195 


ous  resentment  of  a coxcomb  that  vents  his  in- 
dignation with  an  insipid  pertness.  In  either 
of  these  two  lights  I think  it  may  divert  my 
readers,  for  wliich  reason  I shall  make  no  scru- 
ple to  comply  with  the  gentleman’s  request,  and 
make  his  letter  public. 

' ‘Tilt-yard  Coffee-house. 

‘ Old  Testy, — Your  gray  hairs  for  once  shall 
be  your  protection,  and  this  billet  a fair  warning 
to  you  for  your  audacious  raillery  upon  the  dig- 
nity of  long  swords.  Look  to  it  for  the  future  ; 
consider  we  brothers  of  the  blade  are  men  of  a 
“ long  reach  think  betimes, 

“ How  many  perils  do  environ 

The  man  that  meddles  with  cold  iron.” 

It  has  always  been  held  dangerous  to  play 
with  edge-tools.  I grant  you,  we  men  of  valour 
are  but  awkward  jesters  ; we  know  not  how  to 
repay  joke  for  joke  ; but  then  we  always  make 
up  in  point  what  we  want  in  wit.  He  that  sliall 
rashly  attempt  to  regulate  our  hilts,  or  reduce  our 
blades,  had  need  to  have  a heart  of  oak,  as  well 
as  “ sides  of  iron.”  Thus  much  for  the  present. 
In  the  mean  time.  Bilbo  is  the  word,  remember 
that,  and  tremble. 

‘THO.  SWAGGER.’ 

This  jocose  manner  of  bullying  an  old  man, 
so  long  as  it  affords  some  entertainment  to  my 
friends,  is  what  I shall  not  go  about  to  dis- 
courage. However,  my  witty  antagonist  must 
give  me  leave,  since  he  attacks  me  in  proverbs, 
to  exchange  a thrust  or  two  with  him  at  the 
same  weapons  ; and  so  let  me  tell  Mr.  Swagger, 

‘ There  is  no  catching  old  birds  with  chaff ;’  and 
that  ‘ Brag  is  a good  dog,  but  Hold-fast  is  a bet- 
ter.’ ‘ Fore-warned,  fore-armed.’  Having  des- 
patched this  combatant,  and  given  him  as  good 
as  he  brings,  I proceed  to  exhibit  the  case  of  a 
person  who  is  the  very  reverse  of  the  former  : 
the  which  he  lays  before  me  in  the  following 
epistle  : 

‘ Worthy  Sir, — I am  the  most  unfortunate 
of  men,  if  you  do  not  speedily  interpose  with 
your  authority  in  behalf  of  a gentleman,  who, 
by  his  own  example,  has  for  these  six  months 
endeavoured,  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  to  bring 
little  swords  into  fashion,  in  hopes  to  prevail 
upon  the  gentry  by  that  means  (winning  them 
over  inch  by  inch)  to  appear  without  any  swords 
at  all.  It  was  my  misfortune  to  call  in  at  Tom’s 
last  night,  a little  fuddled,  where  I happened 
only  to  point  towards  an  odd  fellow  with  a mon- 
strous sword,  that  made  a ring  round  him  as  he 
turned  upon  his  heel  to  speak  to  one  or  other  in 
the  room.  Upon  this  peccadillo,  the  bloody- 
minded  villain  has  sent  me  a challenge  this 
morning.  I tremble  at  the  very  thought  of  it, 
and  am  sick  with  the  apprehension  of  seeing 
that  weapon  naked,  which  terrified  me  in  the 
scabbard.  The  unconscionable  ruffian  desires, 
in  the  most  civil  terms,  he  may  have  the  honour 
of  measuring  swords  with  me.  Alas,  sir,  mine 
is  not  (hilt  and  all)  above  a foot  and  a half.  I 
take  the  liberty  of  inclosing  it  to  you  in  my 
wig-box,  and  shall  be  eternally  obliged  to  you. 


if  upon  sight  of  it,  your  compassion  may  be  .so 
far  moved,  as  to  occasion  you  to  write  a good 
word  for  me  to  my  adversary,  or  to  say  any 
thing  that  may  shame  him  into  reason,  and 
save  at  once  the  life  and  reputation  of,  sir,  your 
most  devoted  slave, 

‘TIMOTHY  BODKIN.’ 

Good  Mr.  Bodkin, — The  perusal  of  this  pa- 
per will  give  you  to  understand,  that  your  letter, 
together  with  the  little  implement  you  sent  me 
in  the  band- box,  came  safe  to  my  hands.  From 
the  dimensions  of  it  I perceive  your  courage 
lies  in  a narrow  compass.  Suppose  you  should 
send  this  bravo  the  fellow  to  it,  and  desire  him 
to  meet  you  in  a closet,  letting  him  know  at  the 
same  time,  that  you  fight  all  your  duels  under 
lock  and  key,  for  the  sake  of  privacy.  But  if 
this  proposal  seems  a little  too  rash,  I shall  send 
my  servant  with  your  sword  to  the  person  of- 
fended, and  give  him  instructions  to  tell  him 
you  are  a little  purblind,  and  dare  not  for  that 
reason  trust  to  a longer  weapon,  and  that  an  inch 
in  his  body  will  do  your  business  as  well  as  an 
ell.  Or,  if  you  would  have  me  proceed  yet  more 
cautiously,  my  servant  shall  let  him  know,  as 
from  me,  that  he  should  meddle  with  his  match  ; 
and  that  alone,  if  he  be  a man  of  honour,  will 
make  him  reflect ; if  otherwise,  (as  I am  very 
inclinable  to  doubt  it)  you  need  give  yourself 
no  farther  unnecessary  fears  ; but  rely  upon  the 
truth  of  my  remarks  upon  the  terribles.  I have 
bethought  myself  of  one  expedient  more  for 
you,  which  seems  to  be  the  most  likely  to  suc- 
ceed. Send  your  own  servant  to  wait  upon  the 
gentleman  : let  him  carry  with  him  your  sword 
and  a letter,  in  which  you  tell  him,  that,  ad- 
miring the  magnificence  and  grandeur  of  his 
weapon  at  Tom’s,  you  thought  it  great  pity  so 
gallant  a cavalier  should  not  be  completely 
armed  ; for  which  reason  you  humbly  request, 
that  you  may  have  the  honour  of  presenting 
him  with  a dagger.  I am,  sir,  your  faithful  ser- 
vant, NESTOR  IRONSIDE. 

I received  a letter  last  week  from  one  of  my 
female  wards,  who  subscribes  herself  Terarnin- 
ta.  She  seems  to  be  a lady  of  great  delicacy, 
by  the  concern  she  shows  for  the  loss  of  a small 
covering,  which  the  generality  of  the  sex  have 
laid  aside.  She  is  in  pain,  and  full  of  those 
fears  which  are  natural  in  a state  of  virginity, 
lest  any,  the  smallest  part  of  her  linen,  should 
be  in  the  possession  of  a man.  In  compliance 
therefore  with  her  request,  and  to  gratify  her 
modesty  so  far  as  lies  in  my  power,  I have  given 
orders  to  my  printer  to  make  room  for  her  ad- 
vertisement in  this  day’s  paper. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

August  19.  ‘ Whereas,  a modesty-piece  was 

lost  at  the  masquerade  last  Monday  night,  being 
the  seventeenth  instant,  between  the  hours  of 
twelve  and  one,  the  author  of  this  paper  gives 
notice,  that  if  any  person  will  put  it  into  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Daniel  Button,  to  be  returned  to 
the  owner,  it  shall,  by  her  be  acknowledged  as 
the  last  favour,  and  no  questions  asked. 

‘ N.  R It  is  of  no  use  but  to  the  owner.’ 


196 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  147. 


No.  146.J  Friday,  August  28,  1713. 

Primus  hominum  leonem  manu  tractare  ausus,  et  os- 
tendere  mansuefactum,  Hanno  e clarissimis  PcEiiorum 
traditur.  Plin. 

Hanno,  a noble  Carthagenian,  is  reported  to  have 
been  the  first  man  who  ventured  to  handle  a lion,  and 
bring  him  up  tame. 

The  generality  of  my  readers,  I find,  are  so 
well  pleased  with  the  story  of  the  lion,  in  my 
paper  of  the  twentieth  instant,  and  with  my 
friend’s  design  of  compiling  a history  of  that 
noble  species  of  animals,  that  a great  many  in- 
genious persons  have  promised  me  their  assist- 
ance to  bring  in  materials  for  the  work,  from  all 
the  storehouses  of  ancient  and  modern  learning, 
as  well  as  from  oral  tradition.  For  a farther 
encouragement  of  the  undertaking,  a consider- 
able number  of  virtuosi  have  offered,  when  my 
collection  shall  swell  into  a reasonable  bulk,  to 
contribute  very  handsomely,  by  way  of  sub- 
scription, towards  the  printing  of  them  in  folio, 
on  a large  royal  paper,  curiously  adorned  with 
variety  of  forests,  deserts,  rocks,  and  caves,  and 
lions  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  upon  copper-plates, 
by  the  best  hands.  A rich  old  bachelor  of  Lion’s- 
inn  (who  is  zealous  for  the  honour  of  the  place 
in  which  he  was  educated)  sends  me  word  I 
may  depend  upon  a hundred  pounds  from  him, 
towards  the  embellishing  of  the  work  ; assuring 
me,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  will  set  his  clerk 
to  search  the  records,  and  inquire  into  the  anti- 
quities of  that  house,  that  there  may  be  no  stone 
left  unturned  to  make  the  book  complete.  Con- 
sidering the  volumes  that  have  been  written 
upon  insects  and  reptiles,  and  the  vast  expense 
and  pains  some  philosophers  have  been  at  to 
discover,  by  the  help  of  glasses,  their  almost 
imperceptible  qualities  and  perfections  ; it  will 
not,  I hope,  be  thought  unreasonable,  if  the  lion 
(whose  majestic  form  lies  open  to  the  naked 
eye)  should  take  up  a first-rate  folio. 

A worthy  merchant,  and  a friend  of  mine, 
sends  me  the  following  letter,  to  be  inserted  in 
my  commentaries  upon  lions. 

‘ Sir, — Since  one  of  your  correspondents  has 
of  late  entertained  the  public  with  a very  re- 
markable  and  ancient  piece  of  history,  in  ho- 
nour of  the  grandees  of  the  forest ; and  since  it 
is  probable  you  may  in  time  collect  a great 
many  curious  records  and  amazing  circum- 
stances,  which  may  contribute  to  make  these 
animals  respected  over  the  face  of  the  whole 
earth  ; I am  not  a little  ambitious  to  have  the 
glory  of  contributing  somewhat  to  so  generous 
an  undertaking.  If  you  throw  your  work  into 
the  form  of  chronicle,  I am  in  hopes  I may  fur- 
nish out  a page  in  it  towards  the  latter  end  of 
the  volume,  by  a narration  of  a modern  date, 
which  I had  in  the  year  1700,  from  the  gentle- 
man to  whom  it  happened. 

‘ About  sixty  years  ago,  when  the  plague 
raged  at  Naples,  sir  George  Davis  (consul  there 
for  the  English  nation)  retired  to  Florence.  It 
happened  one  day  he  went  out  of  curiosity  to 
see  the  great  duke’s  lions.  At  the  farther  end, 
in  one  of  the  dens,  lay  a lion,  which  the  keepers 
in  three  years’  time  could  not  tame,  with  all  the 
art  and  gentle  usage  imaginable.  Sir  George 


no  sooner  appeared  at  the  grates  of  the  den,  but 
the  lion  ran  to  him  with  all  the  marks  of  joy 
and  transport  he  was  capable  of  expressing.  He 
reared  himself  up  and  licked  his  hand,  which 
this  gentleman  put  in  through  the  grates.  The 
keeper,  affrighted,  took  him  by  the  arm  and 
pulled  him  away,  'begging  him  not  to  hazard 
his  life  by  going  so  near  the  fiercest  creature 
of  that  kind  that  ever  entered  those  dens.  How- 
ever, nothing  would  satisfy  sir  George,  notwith- 
standing all  that  could  be  said  to  dissuade  him, 
but  he  must  go  into  the  den  to  him.  The  very 
instant  he  entered,  the  lion  threw  his  paws  upon 
his  shoulders,  and  licked  his  face,  and  ran  to 
and  fro  in  the  den,  fawning,  and  full  of  joy,  like 
a dog  at  the  sight  of  his  master.  After  several 
embraces  and  salutations  exchanged  on  both 
sides,  they  parted  very  good  friends.  The  ru- 
mour of  this  interview  between  the  lion  and  the 
stranger  rung  immediately  through  the  whole 
city,  and  sir  George  was  very  near  passing  for 
a saint  among  the  people.  The  great  duke, 
when  he  heard  of  it,  sent  for  sir  George,  who 
waited  upon  his  highness  to  the  den,  and  to  sa- 
tisfy his  curiosity,  gave  him  the  following  ac- 
count of  what  seemed  so  strange  to  the  duke 
and  his  followers. 

“ A captain  of  a ship  from  Barbary  gave  me 
this  lion  when  he  was  a young  whelp.  I 
brought  him  up  tame  ; but  when  I thought  him 
too  large  to  be  suffered  to  run  about  the  house, 
I built  a den  for  him  in  my  court-yard  ; from 
that  time  he  was  never  permitted  to  go  loose, 
except  when  I brought  him  within  doors  to 
show  him  to  my  friends.  When  he  was  five 
years  old,  in  his  gamesome  tricks,  he  did  some 
mischief  by  pawing  and  playing  with  people. 
Having  griped  a man  one  day  a little  too  hard, 
I ordered  him  to  be  shot,  for  fear  of  incurring 
the  guilt  of  what  might  happen  ; upon  this  a 
friend  who  was  then  at  dinner  with  me,  begged 
him  : how  he  came  here  I know  not.” 

‘ Here  sir  George  Davis  ended,  and  thereupon 
the  duke  of  Tuscany  assured  him,  that  he  had 
the  lion  from  that  very  friend  of  his.  I am,  sir, 
your  most  obedient  servant,  and  constant  read- 
er, &,c.’ 


No.  147.]  Saturday,  August  29,  1713. 

Bonum  est  fugienda  aspicere  alieno  iu  malo. 

Publ.  Syr. 

It  is  a good  thing  to  learn  caution  by  the  misfortunes 
of  others. 

Having  in  my  paper  of  the  twenty-first  of 
July,  showed  my  dislike  of  the  ridiculous  cus- 
tom of  garnishing  a new-married  couple,  and 
setting  a gloss  upon  their  persons,  which  is  to 
last  no  longer  than  the  honey-moon  ; I think  it 
may  be  much  for  the  emolument  of  my  disci- 
ples of  both  se.xes,  to  make  them  sensible  in  the 
next  place,  of  the  folly  of  launching  out  into 
extravagant  expenses,  and  a more  magnificent 
way  of  living  immediately  upon  marriage.  If 
the  bride  and  bridegroom  happen  to  be  persons 
of  any  rank,  they  come  into  all  public  places, 
and  go  upon  all  visits  with  so  gay  an  equipage, 
and  so  glittering  an  appearance,  as  if  they  were 


No.  148.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


1.97 


making  so  many  public  entries.  But  to  judi- 
cious minds,  and  to  men  of  experience  in  this 
life,  the  gilt  chariot,  the  coach  and  six,  tlie 
gaudy  liveries,  the  supernumerary  train  of  ser- 
vants, the  great  house,  the  sumptuous  table,  the 
services  of  plate,  the  embroidered  clothes,  the 
rich  brocades,  and  the  profusion  of  jewels,  that 
upon  this  occasion  break  out  at  once,  are  so 
many  symptoms  of  madness  in  the  happy  pair, 
and  prognostications  of  their  future  misery, 

I remember  a country  neighbour  of  my  lady 
Lizard’s,  squire  Wiseacre  by  name,  who  enjoyed 
a very  clear  estate  of  five  hundred  pounds  per 
annum,  and  by  living  frugally  upon  it  was  be- 
forehand in  the  world.  This  gentleman  unfor- 
tunately fell  in  love  with  Mrs.  Fanny  Flippant, 
the  then  reigning  toast  in  those  parts.  In  a 
word,  he  married  her,  and  to  give  a lasting 
proof  of  his  affection,  consented  to  make  both 
her  and  himself  miserable  by  setting  out*  in  the 
high  mode  of  wedlock.  He,  in  less  than  the 
space  of  five  years,  was  reduced  to  starve  in 
prison  for  debt ; and  his  lady,  v,?ith  a son  and 
three  daughters,  became  a burden  to  the  parish. 
The  conduct  of  Frank  Foresight  was  the  very 
reverse  to  squire  Wiseacre’s.  He  had  lived  a 
bachelor  some  years  about  this  town,  in  the  best 
of  companies  ; kept  a chariot  and  four  footmen, 
besides  six  saddle-horses ; he  did  not  exceed, 
but  went  to  the  utmost  stretch  of  his  income ; 
but  when  he  married  the  beautiful  Clarinda, 
(who  brought  him  a plentiful  fortune)  he  dis- 
missed two  of  his  footmen,  four  of  the  saddle- 
horses,  and  his  chariot;  and  kept  only  a chair 
for  the  use  of  his  lady.  Embroidered  clothes 
and  laced  linen  were  quite  laid  aside ; he  was 
married  in  a plain  drugget,  and  from  that  time 
forward,  in  all  the  accommodations  of  life,  never 
coveted  any  thing  beyond  cleanliness  and  con- 
veniency.  When  any  of  his  acquaintance  asked 
him  the  reason  of  this  sudden  change,  he  would 
answer,  ‘ In  single  life  I could  easily  compute 
my  wants,  and  provide  against  them  ; but  the 
condition  of  life  I am  now  engaged  in,  is  at- 
tended with  a thousand  unforeseen  casualties, 
as  well  as  a great  many  distant,  but  unavoidable 
expenses.  The  happiness  or  misery,  in  this 
world,  of  a future  progeny,  will  probably  depend 
upon  my  good  or  ill  husbandry.  I shall  never 
think  I have  discharged  my  duty  until  I have 
laid  up  a provision  for  three  or  four  children  at 
least.’  ‘ But,  pr’ythee,  Frank,’  says  a pert  cox- 
comb that  stood  by,  ‘ why  shouldst  thou  reckon 

thy  chickens  before’ upon  which  he  cut 

him  short,  and  replied,  ‘ It  is  no  matter  ; a brave 
man  can  never  want  heirs,  while  there  is  one 
man  of  worth  living.’  This  precautions  way  of 
reasoning  and  acting  has  proved  to  Mr.  Fore- 
sight and  his  lady  an  uninterrupted  source  of 
felicity.  Wedlock  sits  light  and  easy  upon 
them  ; and  they  are  at  present  happy  in  two  sons 
and  a daughter,  who  a great  many  years  hence 
will  feel  the  good  effects  of  their  parents’  pru- 
dence. 

My  memory  fails  me  in  recollecting  where  I 
have  read,  that  in  some  parts  of  Holland  it  is 
provided  by  law,  that  every  man,  before  he 
marries,  shall  be  obliged  to  plant  a certain  num- 
ber of  trees,  proportionable  to  his  circumstances, 
as  a pledge  to  the  government  for  the  mainte- 


nance of  his  children.  Every  honest  as  well  as 
every  prudent  man  should  do  something  equi- 
valent to  this,  by  retrenching  all  superfluous 
and  idle  expenses,  instead  of  following  the  ex- 
travagant practice  of  persons,  who  sacrifice 
every  thing  to  their  present  vanity,  and  never  are 
a day  beforehand  in  thought.  I know  not  what 
delight  splendid  nuptials  may  afford  to  the  ge- 
nerality of  the  great  world  : I could  never  be 
present  at  any  of  them  without  a heavy  heart. 
It  is  with  pain  I refrain  from  tears,  when  I see 
the  bride  thoughtlessl}'^  jigging  it  about  the 
room,  dishonoured  with  jewels,  and  dazzling 
the  eyes  of  the  whole  assembly  at  the  expense 
of  her  children’s  future  subsistence.  How  sin- 
gular, in  the  age  we  live  in,  is  the  moderate 
behaviour  of  young  Sophia,  and  how  amiable 
does  she  appear  in  the  eyes  of  wise  men  1 Her 
lover,  a little  before  marriage,  acquainted  her, 
that  he  intended  to  lay  out  a thousand  pounds 
for  a present  in  jewels  ; but  before  he  did  it, 
desired  to  know  what  sort  would  be  most  ac- 
ceptable to  her.  ‘ Sir,’  replied  Sophia,  ‘ I thank 
you  for  your  kind  and  generous  intentions,  and 
only  beg  they  may  be  executed  in  another  man- 
ner ; be  pleased  only  to  give  me  the  money,  and 
I will  try  to  lay  it  out  to  a better  advantage.  I 
am  not,’  continues  she,  ‘ at  all  fond  of  those  ex- 
pensive trifles  ; neither  do  I think  the  wearing 
of  diamonds  can  be  any  addition,  nor  the  ab- 
sence of  them  any  diminution,  to  my  happiness. 
I should  be  ashamed  to  appear  in  public  for  a 
few  days  in  a dress  which  does  not  become  me 
at  all  times.  Besides,  I see  by  that  modest 
plain  garb  of  yours,  that  you  are  not  yourself 
affected  with  the  gayety  of  apparel.  When  I 
am  your  wife,  my  only  care  will  be  to  keep  my 
person  clean  and  neat  for  you,  and  not  to  make 
it  fine  for  others.’  The  gentleman,  transported 
with  this  excellent  turn  of  mind  in  his  mistress, 
presented  her  with  the  money  in  new  gold.  She 
purchased  an  annuity  with  it;  outof  the  income 
of  which,  at  every  revolution  of  her  wedding- 
day,  she  makes  her  husband  some  pretty  pre- 
sent, as  a token  of  her  gratitude,  and  a fresh 
pledge  of  her  love ; part  of  it  she  yearly  distri- 
butes among  her  indigent  and  best  deserving 
neighbours ; and  the  small  remainder  she  lays 
out  in  something  useful  for  herself,  or  the  chil- 
dren. 


No.  148.]  Monday,  August  31,  1713. 

Fas  est  et  ab  hoste  doceri. 

Ovid.  Met.  Lib.  iv.  428. 

’Tis  good  to  learn  even  from  an  enemy. 

There  is  a kind  of  apophthegm,  which  I have 
frequently  met  with  in  my  reading,  to  this  pur- 
pose : ‘ That  there  are  few,  if  any  books,  out  of 
which  a man  of  learning  may  not  extract  some- 
thing for  his  use.’  I have  often  experienced  the 
truth  of  this  maxim,  when  calling  in  at  my 
bookseller’s,  I have  taken  the  book  next  to  my 
hand  off  the  counter,  to  employ  the  minutes  I 
have  been  obliged  to  linger  away  there,  in 
waiting  for  one  friend  or  other.  Yesterday 
when  I came  there,  the  Turkish  tales  happened 
to  lie  in  my  way : upon  opening  of  that  amusing 
17* 


198 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


author,  I happened  to  dip  upon  a short  tale, 
which  gave  me  a great  many  serious  reflections. 
The  very  same  fable  may  fall  into  the  hands  of 
a great  many  men  of  wit  and  pleasure,  who,  it 
is  probable,  will  read  it  with  their  usual  levity  ; 
but  since  it  may  as  probably  divert  and  instruct 
a great  many  persons  of  plain  and  virtuous 
minds,  I shall  make  no  scruple  of  making  it  the 
entertainment  of  this  day’s  paper.  The  moral 
to  be  drawn  from  it  is  entirely  Christian,  and  is 
so  very  obvious,  that  I shall  leave  to  every 
reader  the  pleasure  of  picking  it  out  for  him- 
self. I shall  only  premise,  to  obviate  any  offence 
that  may  be  taken,  that  a great  many  notions 
in  the  Mahometan  religion  are  borrowed  from 
the  holy  scriptures. 

The  History  of  Santon  Barsisa. 

There  was  formerly  a santon  whose  name 
was  Barsisa,  which,  for  the  space  of  a hun- 
dred years,  very  fervently  applied  himself  to 
prayers  ; and  scarce  ever  went  out  of  the  grotto 
in  which  he  made  his  residence,  for  fear  of  ex- 
posing himself  to  the  danger  of  offending  God. 
He  fasted  in  the  day-time,  and  watched  in  the 
night.  All  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  had 
such  a great  veneration  for  him,  and  so  highly 
valued  his  prayers,  that  they  commonly  applied 
to  him  when  they  had  any  favour  to  beg  of 
Heaven.  When  he  made  vows  for  the  health 
of  a sick  person,  the  patient  was  immediately 
cured. 

It  happened  that  the  daughter  of  the  king 
of  that  country  fell  into  a dangerous  distemper, 
the  cause  of  which  the  physicians  could  not  dis- 
cover, yet  they  continued  prescribing  remedies 
by  guess;  but  instead  of  helping  the  princess, 
they  only  augmented  her  disease.  In  the  mean 
time  the  king  was  inconsolable,  for  he  passion- 
ately loved  his  daughter  ; wherefore,  one  day, 
finding  all  human  assistance  vain,  he  declared 
it  as  his  opinion  that  the  princess  ought  to  be 
sent  to  the  santon  Barsisa. 

All  the  beys  applauded  his  sentiment,  and  the 
king’s  officers  conducted  her  to  the  santon,  who, 
notwithstanding  his  frozen  age,  could  not  see 
such  a beauty  without  being  sensibly  moved. 
He  gazed  on  her  with  pleasure ; and  the  devil 
taking  this  opportunity,  whispered  in  his  ear 
thus:  ‘ O santon  ! don’t  let  slip  such  a fortunate 
minute  : tell  the  king’s  servants  that  it  is  re- 
quisite for  the  princess  to  pass  this  night  in  the 
grotto,  to  see  whether  it  will  please  God  to  cure 
her  ; that  you  will  put  up  a prayer  for  her,  and 
that  they  need  only  come  to  fetch  her  to-mor- 
row.’ ■ 

How  weak  is  man  ! the  santon  followed  the 
devil’s  advice,  and  did  what  he  suggested  to 
him.  But  the  officers,  before  they  would  yield 
to  leave  the  princess,  sent  one  of  their  number 
to  know  the  king’s  pleasure.  That  monarch, 
who  had  an  entire  confidence  in  Barsisa,  never 
in  the  least  scrupled  the  trusting  of  his  daugh- 
ter with  him.  ‘I  consent,’  said  he,  ‘that  she 
stay  with  that  holy  man,  and  that  he  keep  her 
as  long  as  he  pleases : I am  wholly  satisfied  on 
that  head.’ 

When  the  officers  had  received  the  king’s  an- 
swer, they  all  retired,  and  the  princess  remained 
alone  with  the  hermit  Night  being  come,  the 


[No.  148. 

devil  presented  himself  to  tlie  santon,  saying, 
‘ Canst  thou  let  slip  so  favourable  an  opportunity 
with  so  charming  a creature?  Fear  not  her 
telling  of  the  violence  you  offer  her  ; if  she  were 
even  so  indiscreet  as  to  reveal  it,  who  will  be- 
lieve her?  The  court,  the  city,  and  all  the 
world,  are  too  much  prepossessed  in  your  fa- 
vour to  give  any  credit  to  such  a report.  You 
may  do  any  thing  unpunished,  when  armed 
by  the  great  reputation  for  wisdom  which  you 
have  acquired.’  The  unfortunate  Barsisa  was 
so  weak  as  to  hearken  to  the  enemy  of  man- 
kind. He  approached  the  princess,  took  her 
into  his  arms,  and  in  a moment  cancelled  a vir- 
tue of  a hundred  years  duration. 

He  had  no  sooner  perpetrated  his  crime,  than 
a thousand  avenging  horrors  haunted  him  night 
and  day.  He  thus  accosts  the  devil : ‘ Oh, 
wretch,’  says  he,  ‘ it  is  thou  which  hast  destroy, 
ed  me  ! Thou  hast  encompassed  me  for  a whole 
age,  and  endeavoured  to  seduce  me;  and  now  at 
last  thou  hast  gained  thy  end.’  ‘ Oh,  santon  !’ 
answered  the  devil,  ‘ do  not  reproach  me  with 
the  pleasure  thou  Inst  enjoyed.  Thou  mayst 
repent;  but  what  is  unliappy  for  thee  is,  that 
the  princess  is  impregnated,  and  thy  sin  will 
become  public.  Thou  wilt  become  the  laughing- 
stock of  those  who  admire  and  reverence  thee  at 
present,  and  the  king  will  put  thee  to  an  igno- 
minious death.’ 

Barsisa,  terrified  by  this  discourse,  says  to 
the  devil,  ‘ What  shall  I do  to  prevent  the  pub- 
lication of  my  shame  ?’  ‘ To  hinder  the  know- 
ledge of  your  crime,  you  ought  to  commit  a 
fresh  one,’  answered  the  devil.  ‘ Kill  the  prin- 
cess, bury  her  at  the  corner  of  the  grotto,  and 
when  the  king’s  messengers  come  to-morrow, 
tell  them  you  have  cured  her,  and  that  she  went 
from  the  grotto  very  early  in  the  morning.  They 
will  believe  you,  and  search  for  her  all  over  the 
city  and  country;  and  the  king  her  father  will 
be  in  great  pain  for  her,  but  after  several  vain 
searches  it  will  wear  off.’ 

The  hermit,  abandoned  by  God,  pursuant  to 
this  advice,  killed  the  princess,  buried  her  in  a 
corner  of  the  grotto,  and  the  next  day  told  the 
officers  what  the  devil  bid  him  say.  They  made 
diligent  inquiry  for  the  king’s  daughter,  but  not 
being  able  to  hear  of  her,  they  despaired  of  find- 
ihg  her,  when  the  devil  told  them  that  all  their 
search  for  the  princess  was  vain ; and  relating 
what  had  passed  betwixt  her  and  the  santon,  he 
told  them  the  place  where  she  was  interred. — 
The  officers  immediately  went  to  the  grotto, 
seized  Barsisa,  and  found  the  princess’s  body  in 
the  place  to  which  the  devil  had  directed  them; 
whereupon  they  took  up  the  corpse,  and  carried 
that  and  the  santon  to  the  palace. 

When  the  king  saw  his  daughter  dead,  and 
was  informed  of  the  whole  event,  he  broke  out 
into  tears  and  bitter  lamentations ; and  assera- 
bling  the  doctors,  he  laid  the  santon’s  crime  be- 
fore them,  and  asked  their  advice  how  he  should 
be  punished.  All  the  doctors  condemned  him 
to  death,  upon  which  the  king  ordered  him  to 
be  hanged.  Accordingly,  a gibbet  was  erected : 
the  hermit  went  up  the  ladder,  and  wflien  he  was 
going  to  be  turned  off,  the  devil  whispered  in 
his  ear  these  words : ‘ O,  santon ! if  you  will 
worship  me,  I will  extricate  you  out  of  this  dif- 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


199 


No.  149.] 

ficulty,  and  transport  you  two  thousand  leagues 
from  hence,  into  a country  where  you  shall  be 
reverenced  by  men  as  much  as  you  were  before 
this  adventure.’  ‘ I am  content,’  says  Barsisa  ; 
‘ deliver  me-,  and  I will  worship  thee.’  ‘ Give 
me  first  a sign  of  adoration,’  replies  the  devil. 
Whereupon  the  santon  bowed  his  head,  and 
said,  ‘ I -give  myself  to  you.’  The  devil  then 
raising  his  voice,  said,  ‘ O,  Barsisa,  I am  satis- 
fied; I have  obtained  what  I desired;’  and  with 
those  words,  spitting  in  his  face,  he  disappear- 
ed ; and  the  deluded  santon  was  hanged. 


No.  149.]  Tuesday^  September  1,  1713. 

Uratur  vestis  amore  tuae.  Ovid. 

Your  very  dress  shall  captivate  his  heart. 

I HAVE  in  a former  precaution,  endeavoured 
to  show  the  mechanism  of  an  epic  poem,  and 
given  the  reader  prescriptions  whereby  he  may, 
without  the  scarce  ingredient  of  a genius,  com- 
pose the  several  paiM,s  of  that  great  work.  I 
shall  now  treat  of  an  affair  of  more  general  im- 
portance, and  make  dress  the  subject  of  the  fol- 
lowing paper. 

Dress  is  grown  of  universal  use  in  the  con- 
duct of  life.  Civilities  and  respect  are  only  paid 
to  appearance.  It  is  a varnish  that  gives  a lus- 
tre to  every  action,  a passe  par  tout  that  intro- 
duces us  into  all  polite  assemblies,  and  the  only 
certain  method  of  making  most  of  the  youth  of 
our  nation  conspicuous. 

There  was  formerly  an  absurd  notion  among 
the  men  of  letters,  that  to  establish  themselves 
in  the  character  of  wits,  it  was  absolutely  ne- 
cessary to  show  a contempt  of  dress.  This  inju- 
dicious affectation  of  theirs  flattened  all  their 
conversation,  took  off  the  force  of  every  expres- 
sion,  and  incapacitated  a female  audience  from 
giving  attention  to  any  thing  they  said.  While 
the  man  of  dress  catches  their  eyes  as  well  as 
ears,  and  at  every  ludicrous  turn  obtains  a laugh 
of  applause  by  way  of  compliment. 

I shall  lay  down  as  an  established  maxim, 
which  hath  been  received  in  all  ages,  that  no 
person  can  dress  without  a genius. 

A genius  is  never  to  be  acquired  b}'-  art,  but 
is  the  gift  of  nature;  it  may  be  discovered  even 
in  infancy.  Little  master  will  smile  when  you 
shake  his  plume  of  feathers  before  him,  and 
thrust  its  little  knuckles  in  papa’s  full-bottom ; 
miss  will  toy  with  her  mother’s  Mechlin  lace, 
and  gaze  on  the  gaudy  colours  of  a fan ; she 
smacks  her  lips  for  a kiss  at  the  appearance  of 
a gentleman  in  embroidery,  and  is  frighted  at 
the  indecency  of  the  houso-rnaid’s  blue-apron : 
as  she  grows  up,  the  dress  of  her  baby  begins 
to  be  her  care,  and  you  will  see  a genteel  fancy 
open  itself  in  the  ornaments  of  the  little  ma- 
chine. 

We  have  a kind  of  sketch  of  dress,  if  I may 
so  call  it,  among  ns,  which,  as  the  invention 
was  foreign,  is  called  a dishabille  : every  thing 
is  thrown  on  with  a loose  and  careless  air;  yet 
a genius  discovers  itself  even  through  this  neg- 
ligence of  dress,  just  as  you  may  see  the  mas- 
terly hand  of  a painter  in  three  or  four  swift 
i^trohes  of  the  pencil. 


1 The  most  fruitful  in  geniuses  is  the  French 
nation;  we  owe  most  of  our  jaunty  fashions  now 
in  vogue,  to  some  adept  beau  among  them. 
Their  ladies  exert  the  whole  scope  of  their  fan- 
cies upon  every  new  petticoat;  every  head-dress 
undergoes  a change  ; and  not  a lady  of  genius 
will  appear  in  the  same  shape  two  days  toge- 
ther ; so  that  we  may  impute  the  scarcity  of 
geniuses  in  our  climate  to  the  stagnation  of 
fashions. 

The  ladies  among  us  have  a superior  genius 
to  the  men ; which  have  for  some  years  past 
shot  out  in  several  exorbitant  inventions  for  the 
greater  consumption  of  our  manufacture.  While 
the  men  have  contented  themselves  with  the  re- 
trenchment of  the  hat,  or  the  various  scallop  of 
the  pocket,  the  ladies  have  sunk  the  head-dress, 
inclosed  themselves  in  the  circumference  of  the 
hoop- petticoat ; furbelows  and  flounces  have 
been  disposed  of  at  will,  the  stays  have  been 
lowered  behind,  for  the  better  displaying  the 
beauties  of  the  neck  ; not  to  mention  the  vari- 
ous rolling  of  the  sleeve,  and  those  other  nice 
circumstances  of  dress  upon  which  every  lady 
employs  her  fancy  at  pleasure. 

The  sciences  of  poetry  and  dress  have  so  near 
an  alliance  to  each  other,  that  the  rules  of  the 
one,  with  very,  little  variation,  may  serve  for  the 
other. 

As  in  a poem,  all  the  several  parts  of  it  must 
have  a harmony  with  the  whole ; so  to  keep  to 
the  propriety  of  dress,  the  coat,  waistcoat,  and 
breeches,  must  be  of  the  same  piece. 

As  Aristotle  obliges  all  dramatic  writers  to  a 
strict  observance  of  time,  place,  and  action,  in 
order  to  compose  a just  work  of  this  kind  of  po- 
etry ; so  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  a person 
that  applies  himself  to  the  study  of  dress,  to 
have  a strict  regard  to  these  three  particulars. 

To  begin  with  the  time.  What  is  more  ab- 
surd than  the  velvet  gown  in  summer?  and  what 
is  more  agreeable  in  the  winter?  The  muff  and 
fur  are  preposterous  in  June,  Vv^hich  are  charm- 
ingly supplied  by  the  Turkey  handkerchief  and 
the  fan.  Every  thing  must  be  suitable  to  the 
season,  and  there  can  be  no  propriety  in  dress 
without  a strict  regard  to  time.  t 

You  must  have  no  less  respect  to  place.  What 
gives  a lady  a more  easy  air  than  the  wrapping 
gown  in  the  morning  at  the  tea-table  7 The 
Bath  countenances  the  men  of  dress  in  showing 
themselves  at  the  pump  in  their  Indian  night- 
gowns, without  the  least  indecorum. 

Action  is  what  gives  the  spirit  both  to  writ- 
ing and  dress.  Nothing  appears  graceful  with- 
out action ; the  head,  the  arms,  the  legs,  must 
all  conspire  to  give  a habit  a genteel  air.  What 
distinguishes  the  air  of  the  court  from  that  of 
the  country  but  action?  A lady,  by  the  careless 
toss  of  her  head,  wnll  show  a set  of  ribands  to 
advantage;  by  a pinch  of  snuff  judiciously  taken 
will  display  the  glittering  ornament  of  her  little 
finger ; by  the  new  modelling  her  tucker,  at  one 
view  present  you  with  a fine  turned  hand,  and 
a rising  bosom.  In  order  to  be  a proficient  in 
action,  I cannot  sufficiently  recommend  the  sci- 
ence of  dancing : this  will  give  the  feet  an  easy 
gait,  and  the  arms  a gracefulness  of  motion.  If 
a person  have  not  a strict  regard  to  these  three 
above-mentioned  rules  of  antiquity,  the  richest 


200 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


dress  will  appear  stiff  and  affected,  and  the  most 
gay  habit  fantastical  and  tawdry. 

As  different  sorts  of  poetry  require  a different 
style  : the  elegy,  tender  and  mournful ; the  ode, 
gay  and  sprightly ; the  epic,  sublime,  6lc.  so 
must  the  widow  confess  her'  grief  in  the  veil  ; 
the  bride  frequently  makes  her  joy  and  exulta- 
tion conspicuous  in  the  silver  brocade ; and  the 
plume  and  the  scarlet  dye  is  requisite  to  give 
the  soldier  a martial  air.  There  is  another  kind 
of  occasional  dress  in  use  among  the  ladies ; I 
mean  the  riding-habit,  which  some  have  not  in- 
judiciously styled  the  hermaphroditical,  by  rea- 
son of  its  masculine  and  feminine  composition; 
but  I shall  rather  choose  to  call  it  the  Pindaric, 
as  its  first  institution  was  at  a Newmarket 
horse-race,  and  as  it  is  a mixture  of  the  sub- 
limity of  the  epic  with  the  easy  softness  of  the 
ode. 

There  sometimes  arises  a great  genius  in 
dress,  who  cannot  content  himself  with  merely 
copying  from  others,  but  will,  as  he  sees  occa- 
sion, strike  out  into  the  long  pocket,  slashed 
sleeve,  or  something  particular  in  the  disposi- 
tion of  his  lace,  or  the  flourish  of  his  embroide- 
ry. Such  a person,  like  the  masters  of  other 
sciences,  will  show  that  he  hath  a manner  of 
his  own. 

On  the  contrary,  there  are  some  pretenders 
to  dress  who  shine'^out  but  by  halves  ; whether 
it  be  for  want  of  genius  or  money.  A dancing- 
master  of  the  lowest  rank  seldom  fails  of  the 
scarlet  stocking  and  the  red  heel ; and  shows  a 
particular  respect  to  the  leg  and  foot,  to  which 
he  owes  his  subsistence  ; when  at  the  same  time 
perhaps  all  the  superior  ornament  of  his  body 
is  neglected.  We  may  say  of  these  sort  of  dress- 
ers what  Horace  says  of  his  patch-work  poets : 

‘ Purpureas  late  qui  splendeat  unus  et  alter 
Assuitur  pannus’ Ars  Poet.  ver.  15. 

‘ A few  florid  lines 

Shine  thro’  th’  insipid  dulness  of  the  rest.’ 

Roscommon. 

Others  who  lay  the  stress  of  beauty  in  their 
face,  exert  all  their  extravagance  in  the  peri- 
wig, which  is  a kind  of  index  of  the  mind  ; the 
full-bottom,  formally  combed  all  before,  denotes 
the  lawyer  and  the  politician ; the  smart  tie-wig 
with  a black  riband,  shows  a man  of  fierceness  of 
temper ; and  he  that  burdens  himself  with  a su- 
perfluity of  white  hair  which  flows  down  the 
back,  and  mantles  in  waving  curls  over  the 
shoulders,  is  generally  observed  to  be  less  curi- 
ous in  the  furniture  of  the  inward  recesses  of 
the  scull,  and  lays  himself  open  to  the  applica- 
tion of  that  censure  which  Milton  applies  to  the 
fair  sex, 

‘ of  outward  form 

Elaborate,  of  inward,  less  exact.’ 

A lady  of  genius  will  give  a genteel  air  to  her 
whole  dress  by  a well-fancied  suit  of  knots,  as  a 
judicious  writer  gives  a spirit  to  a whole  sen- 
tence by  a single  expression.  As  words  grow 
old,  and  new  ones  enrich  the  language,  so  there 
is  a constant  succession  of  dress  ; the  fringe 
succeeds  the  lace,  the  stays  shorten  or  extend 
the  waist,  the  riband  undergoes  divers  varia- 
tions, the  head-dress  receives  frequent  rises  and 
falls  every  year  ; and  in  short,  the  whole  woman 


[No.  143. 

throughout,  as  curious  observers  of  dress  have 
remarked,  is  changed  from  top  to  toe,  in  the  pe- 
riod of  five  years.  A poet  will  now  and  then, 
to  serve  his  purpose,  coin  a w’ord,  so  will  a lady 
of  genius  venture  at  an  innovation  in-the  fashion ; 
but  as  Horace  advises,  that  all  new-minted  words 
should  have  a Greek  derivation  to  give  them  an 
indisputable  authority,  so  I would  counsel  all  our 
improvers  of  fashion  always  to  take  the  hint 
from  France,  which  may  as  properly  be  called 
the  ‘ fountain  of  dress,’  as  Greece  was  of  lite- 
rature. 

Dress  may  bear  a parallel  to  poetry  with  re- 
spect to  moving  the  passions.  The  greatest  mo- 
tive to  love,  as  daily  experience  shows  us,  is 
dress.  I have  known  a lady  at  sight  fly  to  a 
red  feather,  and  readily  give  her  hand  to  a 
fringed  pair  of  gloves.  At  another  time  I have 
seen  the  awkward  appearance  of  her  rural  hum- 
ble servant  move  her  indignation  ; she  is  jealous 
every  time  her  rival  hath  a new  suit;  and  in  a 
rage  when  her  wminan  pins  her  mantua  to  dis- 
advantage. Unhappy,  unguarded  woman  ! alas  ! 
what  moving  rhetoric  has  she  often  found  in  the 
seducing  full-bottom  ! who  can  tell  the  resist- 
less eloquence  of  the  embroidered  coat,  the  gold 
snuff-box,  and  the  amber-headed  cane  ! 

I shall  conclude  these  criticisms  with  some 
general  remarks  upon  the  milliner,  the  mantua- 
maker,  and  the  lady’s  woman,  these  being  the 
three  chief  on  which  all  the  circumstances  of 
dress  depend. 

The  milliner  must  be  thoroughly  versed  in 
ph  j siognomy  ; in  the  choice  of  ribands  she  must 
have  a particular  regard  to  the  complexion,  and 
must  ever  be  mindful  to  cut  the  head-dress  to 
the  dimensions  of  the  face.  When  she  meets 
with  a countenance  of  large  diameter,  she  must 
draw  the  dress  forward  to  the  face,  and  let  the 
lace  encroach  a little  upon  the  cheek,  which 
casts  an  agreeable  shade,  and  takes  off  from  its 
masculine  figure  ; the  little  oval  face  requires 
the  diminutive  commode,  just  on  the  tip  of  the 
crown  of  the  head : she  must  have  a regard  to 
the  several  ages  of  women  : the  head-dress  must 
give  the  mother  a more  sedate  mien  than  the 
virgin ; and  age  must  not  be  made  ridiculous 
with  the  flaunting  airs  of  youth.  There  is  a 
beauty  that  is  peculiar  to  the  several  stages  of 
life,  and  as  much  propriety  must  be  observed  in 
the  dress  of  the  old,  as  the  young. 

The  mantua-maker  must  be  an  expert  anato- 
mist; and  must,  if  judiciously  chosen,  have  a 
name  of  French  termination  ; she  must  know 
how  to  hide  all  the  defects  in  the  proportions  of 
the  body,  and  must  be  able  to  mould  the  shape 
by  the  stays,  so  as  to  preserve  the  intestines, 
that  while  she  corrects  the  body,  she  may  not 
interfere  with  the  pleasures  of  the  palate. 

The  lady’s  woman  must  have  all  the  qualities 
of  a critic  in  poetry  ; as  her  dress,  like  the  cri- 
tic’s learning,  is  at  second-hand,  she  must,  like 
him,  have  a ready  talent  at  censure,  and  her 
tongue  must  be  deeply  versed  in  detraction  ; she 
must  be  sure  to  asperse  the  characters  of  the 
ladies  of  most  eminent  virtue  and  beauty,  to  in- 
dulge her  lady’s  spleen  ; and  as  it  hath  been  re- 
marked, that  critics  are  the  most  fawning  syco- 
phants to  their  patrons,  so  must  our  female  cri- 
tic be  a thorough  proficient  in  flattery  : she  must 


No.  150.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


201 


add  sprightliness  to  her  lady’s  air,  by  encourag- 
ing  her  vanity  ; give  gracefulness  to  her  step, 
by  cherishing  her  pride ; and  make  her  show  a 
haughty  contempt  of  her  admirers,  by  enume- 
rating her  imaginary  conquests.  As  a critic 
must  stock  his  memory  with  the  names  of  all 
the  authors  of  note,  she  must  be  no  less  ready 
in  the  recital  of  all  the  beaux  and  pretty  fellows 
in  vogue ; like  the  male  critic,  she  asserts,  that 
the  theory  of  any  science  is  above  the  practice, 
and  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  able  to  set  her 
own  person  off  to  advantage,  in  order  to  be  a 
judge  of  the  dress  of  others ; and  besides  all 
those  qualifications,  she  must  be  endued  with 
the  gift  of  secrecy,  a talent  very  rarely  to  be 
met  with  in  her  profession. 

By  what  I have  said,  I believe  my  reader  will 
be  convinced,  that  notwithstanding  the  many 
pretenders,  the  perfection  of  dress  cannot  be  at- 
tained without  a genius  ; and  shall  venture  bold- 
ly to  affirm,  that  in  all  arts  and  sciences  what- 
ever, epic  poetry  excepted,  (of  which  I formerly 
showed  the  knack  or  mechanism)  a genius  is 
absolutely  necessary. 


No.  150.]  Wednesday^  September  2,  1713. 

— Nescio  qua  dulcedine  laeti, 

Progeniem  nidosque  fovent — Virg.  Georg,  iv.  55. 

with  secret  joy, 

Their  young  succession  all  their  cares  employ. 

Dry  dev. 

I WENT  the  other  day  to  visit  Eliza,  who  in 
the  perfect  bloom  of  beauty  is  the  mother  of 
several  children.  She  had  a little  prating  girl 
upon  her  lap,  who  was  begging  to  be  very  fine, 
that  she  might  go  abroad  ; and  the  indulgent 
mother,  at  her  little  daughter’s  request,  had  just 
taken  the  knots  off  her  own  head,  to  adorn  the 
hair  of  the  pretty  trifler.  A smiling  boy  was  at 
the  same  time  caressing  a lap-dog,  which  is 
their  mother’s  favourite,  because  it  pleases  the 
children;  and  she,  with  a delight  in  her  looks, 
which  heightened  her  beauty,  so  divided  her 
conversation  with  the  two  pretty  prattlers,  as  to 
make  them  both  equally  cheerful. 

As  I came  in,  she  said  with  a blush,  ‘ Mr.  Iron- 
side, though  you  are  an  old  bachelor,  you  must 
not  laugh  at  my  tenderness  to  my  children.’  I 
need  not  tell  my  reader  what  civil  things  I said 
in  answer  to  the  lady,  whose  matron-like  be- 
haviour gave  me  infinite  satisfaction  ; since  I 
myself  take  great  pleasure  in  playing  with  chil- 
dren,  and  am  seldom  unprovided  of  plums  or 
marbles,  to  make  my  court  to  such  entertaining 
companions. 

Whence  is  it,  said  I to  myself  when  I was 
alone,  that  the  affection  of  parents  is  so  intense 
to  their  offspring  ? Is  it  because  they  generally 
find  such  resemblances  in  what  they  have  pro- 
duced, as  that  thereby  they  think  themselves  re- 
newed in  their  children,  and  are  willing  to  trans- 
mit themselves  to  future  times  ? Or  is  it,  be- 
cause they  think  themselves  obliged,  by  the  dic- 
tates of  humanity,  to  nourish  and  rear  what  is 
placed  so  immediately  under  their  protection  ; 
and  what  by  their  means  is  brought  into  this 
world,  the  scene  of  misery,  of  necessity  ? These 


will  not  come  up  to  it.  Is  it  not  rather  the  good 
providence  of  that  being,  who  in  a supereminent 
degree  protects  and  cherishes  the  whole  race  of 
mankind,  his  sons  and  creatures  ? How  shall 
we,  any  other  way,  account  for  this  natural  af- 
fection, so  signally  displayed  throughout  every 
species  of  the  animal  creation,  without  which 
the  course  of  nature  would  quickly  fail,  and 
every  various  kind  be  extinct  ? Instances  of 
tenderness  in  the  most  savage  brutes  are  so  fre- 
quent, that  quotations  of  that  kind  are  altogether 
unnecessary. 

If  we,  who  have  nog^rticular  concern  in 
them,  take  a secret  delignt  in  observing  the  gen- 
tle dawn  of  reason  in  babes  ; if  our  ears  are 
soothed  with  their  half-forming  and  aiming  at 
articulate  sounds ; if  we  are  charmed  with  their 
pretty  mimicry,  and  surprised  at  the  unexpected 
starts  of  wit  and  cunning  in  these  miniatures 
of  man  ; what  transport  may  we  imagine  in  the 
breasts  of  those,  into  whom  natural  instinct  hath 
poured  tenderness  and  fondness  for  them  ! how 
amiable  is  such  a weakness  in  human  nature  ! 
or  rather,  how  great  a weakness  is  it,  to  give 
humanity  so  reproachful  a name  ! The  bare 
consideration  of  paternal  affection  should  me- 
thinks  create  a more  grateful  tenderness  in 
children  toward  their  parents,  than  we  generally 
see  ; and  the  silent  whispers  of  nature  be  attend- 
ed to,  though  the  laws  of  God  and  man  did  not 
call  aloud. 

These  silent  whispers  of  nature  have  had  a 
marvellous  power,  even  when  their  cause  hath 
been  unknown.  There  are  several  examples  in 
story  of  tender  friendships  formed  betwixt  men 
who  knew  not  of  their  near  relation.  Such  ac- 
counts confirm  me  in  an  opinion  I have  long 
entertained,  that  there  is  a sympathy  betwixt 
souls,  which  cannot  be  explained  by  the  preju- 
dice of  education,  the  sense  of  duty,  or  any  other 
human  motive. 

The  memoirs  of  a certain  French  nobleman, 
which  now  lie  before  me,  furnish  me  with  a 
very  entertaining  instance  of  this  secret  attrac- 
tion implanted  by  Providence  in  the  human 
soul.  It  will  be  necessary  to  inform  the  reader, 
that  the  person  whose  story  I am  going  to  re- 
late, was  one  whose  roving  and  romantic  tem- 
per, joined  to  a disposition  singularly  amorous,- 
had  led  him  through  a vast  variety  of  gallantries 
and  amours.  He  had,  in  his  youth,  attended  a 
princess  of  France  into  Poland,  where  he  had 
been  entertained  by  the  king  her  husband,  and 
married  the  daughter  of  a grandee.  Upon  her 
death  he  returned  into  his  native  country  ; where 
his  intrigues  and  other  misfortunes  having  con- 
sumed his  paternal  estate,  he  now  went  to  take 
care  of  the  fortune  his  deceased  wife  had  left 
him  in  Poland.  In  his  journey  he  was  robbed 
before  he  reached  Warsaw,  and  lay  ill  of  a fever, 
when  he  met  with  the  following  adventure, 
wliich  he  shall  relate  in  his  own  words. 

‘ I had  been  in  this  condition  for  four  days, 
when  the  countess  of  Venoski  passed  that  way. 
She  was  informed  that  a stranger  of  good  fashion 
lay  sick,  and  her  charity  led  her  to  see  me.  I 
remembered  her,  for  I had  often  seen  her  with 
my  wife,  to  whom  she  was  nearly  related  ; but 
when  I found  she  knew  not  me,  I thought  fit  to 
conceal  my  name.  I told  her  I was  a German  ; 


202 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


that  I had  been  robbed  ; and  that  if  siie  had  the 
charity  to  send  me  to  Warsaw,  the  queen  would 
acknowledge  it;  I having  the  honour  to  be 
known  to  her  majesty.  The  countess  had  the 
goodness  to  take  compassion  of  me  ; and  order- 
ing me  to  be  put  in  a litter,  carried  me  to  War- 
saw, where  1 was  lodged  in  her  house  until  my 
health  should  allow  me  to  wait  on  the  queen. 

‘ My  fever  increased  after  my  journey  was 
over,  and  I was  confined  to  my  bed  for  fifteen 
days.  When  the  countess  first  saw  me,  she  had 
a young  lady  with  her  about  eighteen  years  of 
age,  who  was  much  taller  and  better  shaped 
than  the  Polish  women  generally  are.  She  was 
very  fair,  her  skin  exceeding  fine,  and  her  hair 
and  shape  inexpressibly  beautifal.  I was  not 
so  sick  as  to  overlook  this  young  beauty  ; and  I 
felt  in  my  heart  such  emotions  at  the  first  view, 
as  made  me  fear  that  all  my  misfortunes  had 
not  armed  me  sufficiently  against  the  charms 
of  the  fair  sex.  The  amiable  creature  seemed 
alHicted  at  my  sickness  ; and  she  appeared  to 
have  so  much  concern  and  care  for  me,  as  raised 
in  me  a great  inclination  and  tenderness  for  her. 
She  came  every  day  into  my  chamber  to  inquire 
after  my  health ; I asked  who  she  was,  and  I 
was  answered,  that  she  was  niece  to  the  count- 
ess of  Venoski. 

‘ I verily  believe  that  the  constant  sight  of 
this  charming  maid,  and  the  pleasure  I received 
from  her  careful  attendance,  contributed  more 
to  my  recovery  than  all  the  medicines  the  phy- 
sicians gave  me.  In  short,  my  fever  left  me, 
and  I had  the  satisfaction  to  see  the  lovely  crea- 
ture overjoyed  at  my  recovery.  She  came  to 
see  me  oftener  as  I grew  better  ; and  I already 
felt  a stronger  and  more  tender  affection  for  her 
than  I ever  bore  to  any  woman  in  my  life  ; when 
I began  to  perceive  that  her  constant  care  of 
me  was  only  a blind,  to  give  her  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  a young  Pole,  whom  I took  to  be  her 
lover.  He  seemed  to  be  much  about  her  age, 
of  a brown  complexion,  very  tall,  but  finely 
shaped.  Every  time  she  came  to  see  me,  the 
young  gentleman  came  to  find  her  out ; and 
they  usually  retired  to  a corner  of  the  chamber, 
where  they  seemed  to  converse  with  great  ear- 
nestness. The  aspect  of  the  youth  pleased  me 
wonderfully  ; and  if  I had  not  suspected  that 
he  was  my  rival,  I should  have  taken  delight  in 
his  person  and  friendship. 

‘ They  both  of  them  often  asked  me  if  I were 
in  reality  a German,  which,  when  I continued 
to  affirm,  they  seemed  very  much  troubled.  One 
day,  I took  notice  that  the  young  lady  and  gen- 
tleman, having  retired  to  a window,  were  very 
intent  upon  a picture ; and  that  every  now  and 
then  they  cast  their  eyes  upon  me,  as  if  they 
had  found  some  resemblance  betwixt  that  and 
my  features.  I could  not  forbear  to  ask  the 
meaning  of  it ; upon  which  the  lady  answered, 
that  if  I had  been  a Frenchman,  she  should 
have  imagined  that  I was  the  person  for  whom 
the  picture  was  drawn,  because  it  so  exactly  re- 
sembled me.  I desired  to  see  it ; but  how  great 
was  my  surprise,  when  I found  it  to  be  the  very 
painting  which  I had  sent  to  the  queen  five  years 
before,  and  which  she  commanded  me  to  get 
drawn  to  be  given  to  my  children.  After  I had 
viewed  the  piece,  I cast  my  eyes  upon  the  young 


[No.  151. 

lady,  and  then  upon  the  gentleman  I had  thought 
to  be  her  lover.  My  heart  beat,  and  I felt  a se- 
cret emotion  which  filled  me  with  wonder.  I 
thought  I traced  in  the  two  young  persons  some 
of  my  own  features,  and  at  that  moment  1 said 
to  myself,  “ Are  not  these  my  children  ?”  The 
tears  came  into  my  eyes,  and  I was  about  to  run 
and  embrace  them;  but  constraining  myself 
with  pain,  I asked  whose  picture  it  was  ? The 
maid,  perceiving  that  I could  not  speak  without 
tears,  fell  a weeping.  Her  tears  absolutely  con- 
firmed  me  in  my  opinion,  and  falling  upon  her 
neck,  “ Ah,  my  dear  child,”  said  I,  “ yes,  I am 
your  father.”  I could  say  no  more.  The  youth 
seized  my  hands  at  the  same  time,  and  kissing, 
bathed  them  with  his  tears.  Throughout  my 
life,  I never  felt  a joy  equal  to  this  ; and  it  must 
be  ovvned,  that  nature  inspires  more  lively  emo- 
tions and  pleasing  tenderness  than  the  passions 
can  possibly  excite.’ 


No.  151.]  Thursday,  September  3,  1713. 

Accipiat  sane  mercedem  sanguinis,  et  sic 
Palleat,  ut  nudis  pressil  qui  calcibus  anguem. 

Juv.  Sat.  i.  42. 

A dear-bought  bargain,  all  things  duly  weigh’d, 

For  which  their  thrice-concocted  blood  is  paid; 
With  looks  as  wan,  as  he  who,  in  the  brake. 

At  unawares  has  trod  upon  a snake.  Dryden. 

‘ To  the  Guardian. 

‘ Old  Nestor, — I believe  you  distance  me  not 
so  much  in  years  as  in  wisdom,  and  therefore 
since  you  have  gained  so  deserved  a reputation, 
I beg  your  assistance  in  correcting  the  manners 
of  an  untoward  lad,  who  perhaps  may  listen  to 
your  admonitions,  sooner  than  to  all  the  severe 
checks,  and  grave  reproofs  of  a father.  With- 
out any  longer  preamble,  you  must  know,  sir, 
that  about  two  years  ago.  Jack,  my  eldest  son 
and  heir,  was  sent  up  to  London,  to  be  admitted 
of  the  Temple,  not  so  much  with  a view  of  his 
studying  the  law,  as  a desire  to  improve  his 
breeding.  This  was  done  out  of  complaisance 
to  a cousin  of  his,  an  airy  lady,  who  was  con- 
tinually teazing  me,  that  the  boy  would  shoot 
up  into  a mere  country  booby,  if  he  did  not  see 
a little  of  the  world.  She  herself  was  bred 
chiefly  in  town,  and  since  she  was  married  into 
the  country,  neither  looks,  nor  talks,  nor  dresses 
like  any  of  her  neighbours,  and  is  grown  the 
admiration  of  every  one  but  her  husband.  The 
latter  end  of  last  month  some  important  business 
called  me  up  to  town,  and  the  first  thing  I did, 
the  next  morning  about  ten,  was  to  pay  a visit 
to  my  son  at  his  chambers ; but  as  I began  to 
knock  at  the  door,  I was  interrupted  by  the  bed- 
maker  in  the  staircase,  who  told  me  her  master 
seldom  rose  till  about  twelve,  and  about  one  I 
might  be  sure  to  find  him  drinking  tea.  I bid 
her  somewhat  hastily  hold  her  prating,  and  open 
the  door,  which  accordingly  she  did.  The  first 
thing  I observed  upon  the  table  was  the  secret 

amours  of , and  by  it  stood  a box  of  pills  : 

on  a chair  lay  a snuff-box  with  a fan  half  broke, 
and  on  the  floor  a pair  of  foils.  Having  seen 
this  furniture,  I entered  his  bed-chamber,  not 
without  some  noise ; whereupon,  he  began  to 


No.  152.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


203 


swear  at  liis  bed-maker  (as  he  thought)  for  dis- 
turbing him  so  soon,  and  was  turning  about  for 
the  other  nap,  when  he  discovered  such  a thin, 
pale,  sickly  visage,  that  had  I not  heard  his  voice, 
I should  never  have  guessed  him  to  have  been 
my  son.  How  ditferent  was  this  countenance 
from  that  ruddy,  hale  complexion,  which  he  had 
at  parting  with  me  from  home!  After  I had 
waked  him,  he  gave  me  to  understand,  that  he 
was  but  lately  recovered  out  of  a violent  fever, 
and  the  reason  why  he  did  not  acquaint  me 
with  it,  was,  lest  the  melancholy  news  might 
occasion  too  many  tears  among  his  relations, 
and  be  an  unsupportable  grief  to  his  mother. 
To  be  short  with  you,  old  Nestor,  I hurried  my 
young  spark  down  into  the  country  along  with 
me,  and  there  am  endeavouring  to  plump  him 
up,  so  as  to  be  no  disgrace  to  his  pedigree  ; for, 
I assure  you,  it  was  never  known  in  the  memory 
of  man,  that  any  one  of  the  family  of  the  Ring- 
woods  ever  fell  into  a consumption,  except  Mrs. 
Dorothy  Ring  wood,  who  died  a maid  at  forty, 
five.  In  order- to  bring  him  to  himself,  and  to 
be  one  of  us  again,  I make  him  go  to  bed  at 
ten,  and  rise  half  an  hour  past  five ; and  when 
he  is  pulling  for  bohea  tea  and  cream,  I place 
upon  a table  a jolly  piece  of  cold  roast  beef,  or 
well  powdered  ham,  and  bid  him  eat  and  live  ; 
then  take  him  into  the  fields  to  observe  the  reap- 
ers, how  the  harvest  goes  forwards.  There  is 
nobody  pleased  with  his  present  constitution 
but  his  gay  cousin,  who  spirits  him  up,  and 
tells  him,  he  looks  fair,  and  is  grown  well-shaped ; 
but  the  honest  tenants  shake  their  heads,  and 
cry,  “ Lack-a-day,  how  thin  is  poor  young  mas- 
ter fallen  !”  The  other  day,  when  I told  him 
of  it,  he  had  the  impudence  to  reply,  “ I hope, 

sir,  you  would  not  have  me  as  fat  as  Mr. . 

Alas ! what  would  then  become  of  me  ? how 
would  the  ladies  pish  at  such  a great  monstrous 
thing  !” — If  you  are  truly,  what  your  title  im- 
ports, a Guardian,  pray,  sir,  be  pleased  to  con- 
sider what  a noble  generation  must,  in  all  pro- 
bability, ensue  from  the  lives  which  the  town- 
bred  gentlemen  too  often  lead.  A friend  of 
mine,  not  long  ago,  as  we  were  complaining  of 
the  times,  repeated  two  stanzas  out  of  my  lord 
Roscommon,  which,  I think,  may  here  be  ap- 
plicable : 

“ ’Twas  not  the  spawn  of  such  as  these. 

That  dy’d  with  Punic  blood  the  conquer’d  seas, 

And  quash’d  the  stern  iEacides  ; 

Made  the  proud  Asian  monarch  feel 

How  weak  his  gold  was  against  Europe  steel : 

Forc’d  e’en  dire  Hannibal  to  yield, 

And  won  the  long-disputed  world  at  Zama’s  fatal  field  ; 
But  soldiers  of  a rustic  mould, 

Rough,  hardy,  season’d,  manly,  bold. 

Either  they  dug  the  stubborn  ground. 

Or  thro’  hewn  woods  their  weighty  strokes  did  sound  ; 

And  after  the  declining  sun 
Had  changed  the  shadows,  and  their  task  was  done. 
Home  with  their  weary  team  they  took  their  way. 
And  drown’d  in  friendly  bowls  the  labours  of  the  day.” 

‘ I am,  sir,  your  very  humble  servant, 

‘JONATHAN  RINGWOOD. 

‘ P.  S.  I forgot  to  tell  you,  that  while  I waited 
in  my  son’s  anti-chamber,  I found  upon  the  ta- 
ble the  following  bill ; 

“ Sold  to  Mr.  Jonathan  Ring- 1 £ s.  d. 
wood,  a plain  muslin  head  and  >1  18  6 

ruffles,  with  colbertine  lace,  3 


“Six  pair  of  white  kid  gloves  ^ X s.  d. 
for  madam  Sally,  ^0  14  0 

“ Three  handkerchiefs  for  madam  > ^ ^ ^ 

Sally, 

‘ In  his  chamber  window  I saw  his  shoe- 
maker’s bill,  with  this  remarkable  article  : 

“ For  Mr.  Ringwood,  three  pair  ) q q 
of  laced  shoes,  ^ 

‘ And  in  the  drawer  of  the  table  was  the  fol- 
lowing billet : 

“ Mr.  Ringwood, — I desire,  that  because  you 
are  such  a country  booby,  that  you  forget  the 
use  and  care  of  your  snuff-box,  you  would  not 
call  me  thief.  Pray  see  my  face  no  more.  Your 
abused  friend,  SARAH  GALLOP.” 

‘ Under  these  words  my  hopeful  heir  had 
writ,  “ Memorandum,  To  send  her  word  I have 
found  my  box,  though  I know  she  has  it.”  ’ 


No.  152.]  Friday,  September  4,  1713. 

Quill  potius  pacem  seternam  pactosque  hymenseos 

Exercemus Virg.  ADn.  iv.  99. 

Rather  in  leagues  of  endless  peace  unite. 

And  celebrate  the  hymeneal  rite. 

There  is  no  rule  in  Longinus  which  I more 
admire  than  that  wherein  he  advises  an  author 
who  would  attain  to  the  sublime,  and  writes  for 
eternity,  to  consider,  when  he  is  engaged  in  his 
composition,  what  Homer,  or  Plato,  or  any  other 
of  those  heroes  in  the  learned  world,  would  have 
said  or  thought  upon  the  same  occasion.  I have 
often  practised  this  rule,  with  regard  to  the  best 
authors  among  the  ancients,  as  well  as  among 
the  moderns.  With  what  success,  I must  leave 
to  the  judgment  of  others.  I may  at  least  ven- 
ture to  say  with  Mr.  Dryden,  where  he  professes 
to  have  imitated  Shakspeare’s  style,  that  in  imi- 
tating such  great  authors  I have  always  excelled 
myself. 

I have  also,  by  this  means,  revived  several 
antiquated  ways  of  writing,  which,  though  very 
instructive  and  entertaining,  had  been  laid  aside 
and  forgotten  for  some  ages.  I shall  in  this 
place  only  mention  those  allegories  wherein 
virtues,  vices,  and  human  passions  are  intro- 
duced  as  real  actors.  Though  this  kind  of  com- 
position  was  practised  by  the  finest  authors 
among  the  ancients,  our  countryman  Spenser  is 
the  last  writer  of  note  who  has  applied  himself 
to  it  with  success. 

That  an  allegory  may  be  both  delightful  and 
instructive  ; in  the  first  place,  the  fable  of  it 
ought  to  be  perfect,  and,  if  possible,  to  be  filled 
with  surprising  turns  and  incidents.  In  the 
next,  there  ought  to  be  useful  morals  and  re- 
flections couched  under  it,  which  still  receive  a 
greater  value  from  their  being  new  and  uncom- 
mon ; as  also  from  their  appearing  difficult  to 
have  been  thrown  into  emblematical  types  and 
shadows. 

I was  once  thinking  to  have  written  a whole 
canto  in  the  spirit  of  Spenser,  and  in  order  to 
it,  contrived  a fable  of  imaginary  persons  and 
characters.  I raised  it  on  that  common  dispute 
between  the  comparative  perfections  and  prc- 


204 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


eminence  of  tlie  two  sexes,  each  of  which  have 
very  frequently  had  their  advocates  among  the 
men  of  letters.  Since  I have  not  time  to  ac- 
complish this  work,  I shall  present  my  reader 
with  the  naked  fable,  reserving  the  embellish- 
ments of  verso  and  poetry  to  another  opportu- 
nity. 

The  two  sexes  contending  for  superiority, 
were  once  at  war  with  each  other,  which  was 
chiefly  carried  on  by  their  auxiliaries.  The 
males  were  drawn  up  on  the  one  side  of  a very 
spacious  plain,  the  females  on  the  other;  be- 
tween them  was  left  a very  large  interval  for 
their  auxiliaries  to  engage  in.  At  each  extre- 
mity of  this  middle  space  lay  encamped  several 
bodies  of  neutral  forces,  who  waited  for  the 
event  of  the  battle  before  they  would  declare 
themselves,  that  they  might  then  act  as  they 
saw  occasion. 

The  main  body  of  the  male  auxiliaries  was 
commanded  by  Fortitude  ; that  of  the  female  by 
Beauty.  Fortitude  begun  the  onset  on  Beauty, 
but  found  to  his  cost,  that  she  had  such  a par- 
ticular witchcraft  in  her  looks,  as  withered  all 
his  strength.  She  played  upon  him  so  many 
smiles  and  glances  that  she  quite  weakened  and 
disarmed  him. 

In  short,  he  was  ready  to  call  for  quarter, 
had  not  Wisdom  come  to  his  aid  : this  was  the 
commander  of  the  male  right  wing,  and  would 
have  turned  the  fate  of  the  day,  had  not  he  been 
timely  opposed  by  Cunning,  who  commanded 
the  left  wing  of  the  female  auxiliaries.  Cunning 
was  the  chief  engineer  of  the  fair  army ; but 
upon  this  occasion  was  posted,  as  I have  here 
said,  to  receive  the  attacks  of  Wisdom.  It  was 
very  entertaining  to  see  the  workings  of  these 
two  antagonists;  the  conduct  of  the  one,  and  the 
stratagems  of  the  other.  Never  was  there  a 
more  equal  match.  Those  who  beheld  it,  gave  the 
victory  sometimes  to  the  one,  and  sometimes  to 
the  other,  though  most  declared  the  advantage 
was  on  the  side  of  the  female  commander. 

In  the  mean  time  the  conflict  was  very  great 
in  the  left  wing  of  the  army,  where  the  battle 
began  to  turn  to  the  male  side.  This  wing  was 
commanded  by  an  old  experienced  officer  called 
Patience,  and  on  the  female  side  by  a general 
known  by  the  name  of  Scorn.  The  latter,  that 
fought  after  the  manner  of  the  Parthians,  had 
the  better  of  it  all  the  beginning  of  the  day  ; but 
being  quite  tired  out  with  the  long  pursuits,  and 
repeated  attacks  of  the  enemy,  who  had  been 
repulsed  above  a hundred  times,  and  rallied  as 
often,  began  to  think  of  yielding ; when  on  a 
sudden  a body  of  neutral  forces  began  to  move. 
The  leader  was  of  an  ugly  look,  and  gigantic 
stature.  He  acted  like  a drawcansir,  sparing 
neither  friend  nor  foe.  His  name  was  Lust.  On 
the  female  side  he  was  opposed  by  a select  body 
of  forces,  commanded  by  a young  officer  that 
had  the  face  of  a cherubim,  and  the  name  of 
Modesty.  This  beautiful  young  hero  was  sup- 
ported by  one  of  a more  masculine  turn,  and 
fierce  behaviour,  called  by  men.  Honour,  and 
by  the  gods.  Pride.  This  last  made  an  obstinate 
defence,  and  drove  back  the  enemy  more  than 
once,  but  at  length  resigned  at  discretion. 

The  dreadful  monster,  after  having  overturned 
whole  squadrons  in  the  female  army,  fell  in 


[No.  153. 

among  the  males,  where  he  made  a more  terri- 
ble havoc  than  on  the  other  side.  He  was  here 
opposed  by  Reason,  who  drew  up  all  his  forces 
against  him,  and  held  the  fight  in  suspense  for 
some  time,  but  at  length  quitted  the  field. 

After  a great  ravage  on  both  sides,  the  two 
armies  agreed  to  join  against  this  common  foe. 
And  in  order  to  it,  drew  out  a small  chosen 
band,  whom  they  placed  by  consent  under  the 
conduct  of  Virtue,  who  in  a little  time  drove 
this  foul  ugly  monster  out  of  the  field. 

Upon  his  retreat,  a second  neutral  leader, 
whose  name  was  Love,  marched  in  between 
the  two  armies.  He  headed  a body  of  ten  thou- 
sand winged  boys,  that  threw  their  darts  and 
arrows  promiscuously  among  both  armies.  The 
wounds  they  gave  were  not  the  wounds  of  an 
enemy.  They  were  pleasing  to  those  that  felt 
them  ; and  had  so  strange  an  effect,  that  they 
wrought  a spirit  of  mutual  friendship,  recon- 
ciliation, and  good-will  in  both  sexes.  The  two 
armies  now  looked  with  cordial  love  on  each 
other,  and  stretched  out  their  arms  with  tears 
of  joy,  as  longing  to  forget  old  animosities,  and 
embrace  one  another. 

The  last  general  of  neutrals  that  appeared  in 
the  field,  was  Hymen,  who  marched  immediate- 
1}'^  after  Love,  and  seconding  the  good  inclina- 
tions which  he  had  inspired,  joined  the  hands 
of  both  armies.  Love  generally  accompanied 
him,  and  recommended  the  sexes,  pair  by  pair, 
to  his  good  offices. 

But  as  it  is  usual  enough  for  several  persons 
to  dress  themselves  in  the  habit  of  a great 
leader.  Ambition  and  Avarice  had  taken  on 
them  the  garb  and  habit  of  Love,  by  which 
means  they  often  imposed  on  Hymen,  by  put- 
ting into  his  hands  several  couples  whom  he 
would  never  have  joined  together,  had  it  not 
been  brought  about  by  the  delusion  of  these  two 
impostors.  O’ 


No.  153.]  Saturday,  September  5,  1713. 

Admiramla  tibi  levium  spectacula  rerum. 

Virg.  Georg,  iv.  3. 

A mighty  pomp,  though  made  of  little  things. 

Dryden. 

There  is  no  passion  which  steals  into  the 
heart  more  imperceptibly,  and  covers  itself  un- 
der more  disguises,  than  pride.  For  my  own 
part,  I think  if  there  is  any  passion  or  vice 
which  I am  wholly  a stranger  to,  it  is  this  ; 
though  at  the  same  time,  perhaps  this  very 
judgment  which  I form  of  myself  proceeds  in 
some  measure  from  this  corrupt  principle. 

I have  been  always  wonderfully  delighted 
with  that  sentence  in  hply  writ, — ‘ Pride  was 
not  made  for  man.’  There  is  not  indeed  any 
single  view  of  human  nature  under  its  present 
condition,  which  is  not  sufficient  to  extinguish 
in  us  all  the  secret  seeds  of  pride  ; and,  on  the 
contrary,  to  sink  the  soul  into  the  lowest  state 
of  humility,  and  what  the  school-men  call  self- 
annihilation.  Pride  was  not  made  for  man,  as 
he  is, 

1.  A sinful, 

2.  An  ignorant, 

3.  A miserable  being. 

There  is  nothing  in  his  understanding,  in  his 


No.  154.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


205 


will,  or  in  his  present  condition  that  can  tempt 
any  considerate  creature  to  pride  or  vanity. 

These  three  very  reasons  why  he  should  not 
be  proud,  are,  notwithstanding  the  reasons  why 
he  is  so.  Were  not  he  a sinful  creature,  he 
would  not  be  subject  to  a passion  which  rises 
from  the  depravity  of  his  nature  ; were  he  not 
an  ignorant  creature,  he  would  see  that  he  has 
nothing  to  be  proud  of ; and  were  not  the  whole 
species  miserable,  he  would  not  have  those 
wretched  objects  of  comparison  before  his  eyes, 
which  are  the  occasions  of  his  passion,  and 
which  make  one  man  value  himself  more  than 
another. 

A wise  man  will  be  contented  that  his  glory  be 
deferred  until  such  time  as  he  shall  be  truly 
glorified;  when  his  understanding  shall  be 
cleared,  his  will  rectified,  and  his  happiness  as- 
sured ; or  in  other  words,  when  he  shall  be  nei- 
ther sinful,  nor  ignorant,  nor  miserable. 

If  there  be  any  thing  which  makes  human 
nature  appear  ridiculous  to  beings  of  superior 
faculties,  it  must  be  pride.  They  know  so  well 
the  vanity  of  those  imaginary  perfections  that 
swell  the  heart  of  man,  and  of  those  little  su- 
pernumerary advantages,  whether  in  birth,  for- 
tune, or  title,  which  one  man  enjoys  above  an- 
other, that  it  must  certainly  very  much  astonish, 
if  it  does  not  very  much  divert  them,  when  they 
see  a mortal  puffed  up,  and  valuing  himself 
above  his  neighbours  on  any  of  these  accounts, 
at  the  same  time  that  he  is  obnoxious  to  all  the 
common  calamities  of  the  species. 

To  set  this  thought  in  its  true  light,  we  will 
fancy,  if  you  please,  that  yonder  mole-hill  is  in- 
habited by  reasonable  creatures,  and  that  every 
pismire  (his  shape  and  way  of  life  only  except- 
ed) is  endowed  with  human  passions.  How 
should  we  smile  to  hear  one  give  us  an  account 
of  the  pedigrees,  distinctions,  and  titles  that 
reign  among  them!  Observe  how  the  whole 
swarm  divide  and  make  way  for  the  pismire 
that  passes  through  them!  You  must  under- 
stand he  is  an  emmet  of  quality,  and  has  better 
blood  in  his  veins  than  any  pismire  in  the  mole- 
hill. Do  not  you  see  how  sensible  he  is  of  it, 
how  slow  he  marches  forward,  how  the  whole 
rabble  of  ants  keep  their  distance  ? Here  you 
may  observe  one  placed  upon  a little  eminence, 
and  looking  down  on  a long  row  of  labourers. 
He  is  the  richest  insect  on  this  side  the  hillock, 
he  has  a walk  of  half  a yard  in  length,  and  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  in  breadth,  he  keeps  a hun- 
dred menial  servants,  and  has  at  least  fifteen 
barley-corns  in  his  granary.  He  is  now  chiding 
and  beslaving  the  emmet  that  stands  before 
him,  and  who,  for  all  that  we  can  discover,  is  | 
as  good  an  emmet  as  himself.  j 

But  here  comes  an  insect  of  figure  ! Do  not  ] 
you  take  notice  of  a little  white  straw  that  he  t 
carries  in  his  mouth  ? That  straw,  you  must  i 
understand,  he  would  not  part  with  for  the 
longest  tract  about  the  mole-hill : did  you  but 
know  what  he  has  undergone  to  purchase  it ! 
See  how  the  ants  of  all  qualities  and  conditions 
swarm  about  him  ! Should  this  straw  drop  out 
of  his  mouth,  you  would  see  all  this  numerous 
circle  of  attendants  follow  the  next  that  took  it 
up,  and  leave  the  discarded  insect,  or  run  over 
his  back  to  come  at  his  successor. 


If  now  you  have  a mind  to  see  all  the  ladies 
of  the  mole-hill,  observe  first  the  pismire  that 
listens  to  the  emmet  on  her  left  hand,  at  the 
same  time  that  she  seems  to  turn  away  lier 
head  from  him.  He  tells  this  poor  insect  that 
she  is  a goddess,  that  her  eyes  are  brighter  than 
the  sun,  that  life  and  death  are  at  her  disposal. 
She  believes  him,  and  gives  herself  a thousand 
little  airs  upon  it.  Mark  the  vanity  of  the  pis- 
mire on  your  left  hand.  She  can  scarce  crawl 
with  age  ; but  you  must  know  she  values  herself 
upon  her  birth  ; and  if  you  mind,  spurns  at 
every  one  that  comes  within  her  reach.  The 
little  nimble  coquette  that  is  running  along  by 
the  side  of  her,  is  a wit.  She  has  broke  many 
a pismire’s  heart.  Do  but  observe  what  a drove 
of  lovers  are  running  after  her. 

We  will  here  finish  this  imaginary  scene ; but 
first  of  all,  to  draw  the  parallel  closer,  will  sup- 
pose, if  you  please,  that  death  comes  down  upon 
the  mole-hill,  in  the  shape  of  a cock-sparrow, 
who  picks  up,  without  distinction,  the  pismire 
of  quality  and  his  flatterers ; the  pismire  of 
substance  and  day-labourers ; the  white-straw 
officer  and  his  sycophants ; with  all  the  god- 
desses, wits,  and  beauties  of  the  mole-hill. 

May  we  not  imagine  that  beings  of  superior 
natures  and  perfections,  regard  all  the  instances 
of  pride  and  vanity,  among  our  own  species,  in 
the  same  kind  of  view,  when  they  take  a survey 
of  those  who  inhabit  the  earth:  or  in  the  lan- 
guage of  an  ingenious  French  poet;  of  those 
pismires  that  people  this  heap  of  dirt,  which 
human  vanity  has  divided  into  climates  and  re- 
gions.  O" 


No.  154.]  Monday,  September  7,  1713. 

Omnia  transformant  sese  in  miracula  rerum. 

Virg.  Georg,  iv.  441. 

All  shapes,  the  most  prodigious,  they  assume. 

I QUESTION  not  but  the  following  letter  will 
be  entertaining  to  those  who  were  present  at 
the  late  masquerade,  as  it  will  recall  into  their 
minds  several  merry  particulars  that  passed  in 
it,  and  at  the  same  time  be  very  acceptable  to 
those  who  were  at  a distance  from  it,  as  they 
may  form  from  hence  some  idea  of  this  fashion- 
able amusement. 

‘ To  Nestor  Ironside,  Esq.  Per  via  leonis. 

‘ Sir, — I could  scarce  ever  go  into  good  com- 
pany, but  the  discourse  was  on  the  ambassador, 
the  politeness  of  his  entertainments,  the  goodness 
of  his  Burgundy  and  Champaign,  the  gayety 
of  his  masquerades,  with  the  odd  fantastical 
dresses  which  were  made  use  of  in  those  mid- 
night solemnities.  The  noise  these  diversions 
made,  at  last  raised  my  curiosity,  and  for  once 
I resolved  to  be  present  at  them,  being  at  the 
same  time  provoked  to  it  by  a lady  I then  made 
my  addresses  to,  one  of  a sprightly  humour,  and 
a great  admirer  of  such  novelties.  In  order  to 
it,  I hurried  my  habit,  and  got  it  ready  a week 
before  the  time,  for  I grew  impatient  to  be  in- 
itiated  in  these  new  mysteries.  Every  morning 
I drest  myself  in  it,  and  acted  before  the  look- 
18 


206 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  154. 


ing-glass,  so  that  I am  vain  enough  to  think  I 
was  as  perfect  in  my  part  as  most  who  had  of- 
tener  frequented  those  diversions.  You  must 
understand  I personated  a devil,  and  that  for 
several  weighty  reasons.  First,  because  appear- 
ing as  one  of  that  fraternity,  I expected  to  meet 
with  particular  civilities  from  the  more  polite 
and  better-bred  part  of  the  company.  Besides, 
as  from  their  usual  reception,  they  are  called 
familiars,  I fancied  I should  in  this  character 
be  allowed  the  greatest  liberties,  and  soonest  be 
led  into  the  secrets  of  the  masquerade.  To  re- 
commend and  distinguish  me  from  the  vulgar, 
I drew  a very  long  tail  after  me.  But  to  speak 
the  truth,  what  persuaded  me  most  to  this  dis- 
guise was,  because  I heard  an  intriguing  lady 
say,  in  a large  company  of  females,  who  unani- 
mously assented  to  it,  that  she  loved  to  converse 
with  such,  for  that  generally  they  were  very 
clever  fellows  who  made  choice  of  that  shape. 
At  length,  when  the  long-wished-for  evening 
came,  which  was  to  open  to  us  such  vast  scenes 
of  pleasure,  I repaired  to  the  place  appointed 
about  ten  at  night,  where  I found  nature  turned 
topsy-turvy,  women  changed  into  men,  and  men 
into  women,  children  in  leading-strings  seven 
feet  high,  courtiers  transformed  into  clowns,  la- 
dies of  the  night  into  saints,  people  of  the  first 
quality  into  beasts  or  birds,  gods  or  goddesses.  I 
fancied  I had  all  Ovid’s  Metamorphoses  before 
me.  Among  these  were  several  monsters  to 
which  I did  not  know  how  to  give  a name ; 

“ worse 

Than  fables  yet  have  feigned,  or  fear  conceived, 

Gorgons,  and  hydras,  and  chimeras  dire.”  Milton. 

‘ In  the  middle  of  the  first  room,  I met  with 
one  drest  in  a shroud.  This  put  me  in  mind  of 
the  old  custom  of  serving  up  a death’s  head  at 
a feast  I was  a little  angry  at  the  dress,  and 
asked  the  gentleman  whether  he  thought  a dead 
man  was  fit  company  for  such  an  assembly;  but 
he  told  me  that  he  was  one  who  loved  his  mo- 
ney, and  that  he  considered  this  dress  would 
serve  him  another  time.  This  walking  coarse^ 
was  followed  by  a gigantic  woman  with  a high- 
crowned  hat,  that  stood  up  like  a steeple  over 
the  heads  of  the  whole  assembly.  I then  chanced 
to  tread  upon  the  foot  of  a female  quaker,  to  all 
outward  appearance ; but  was  surprised  to  hear 

her  cry  out,  “ D — n you,  you  son  of  a !” 

upon  which  I immediately  rebuked  her,  when 
all  of  a sudden,  resuming  her  character,  “ Veri- 
ly,” says  she,  “ I was  to  blame ; but  thou  hast 
bruised  me  sorely.”  A few  moments  after  this 
adventure,  I had  like  to  have  been  knocked 
down  by  a shepherdess,  for  having  run  my  el- 
bow a little  inadvertently  into  one  of  her  sides. 
She  swore  like  a trooper,  and  threatened  me 
with  a very  masculine  voice ; but  I was  timely 
taken  off  by  a presbyterian  parson,  who  told  me 
in  a very  soft  tone,  that  he  believed  I was  a pret- 
ty fellow,  and  that  he  would  meet  me  in  Spring- 
gardens  to-morrow  night.  The  next  object  I 
saw  was  a chimney-sweeper  made  up  of  black 
crape  and  velvet,  with  a huge  diamond  in  his 
mouth,  making  love  to  a butterfly.  On  a sud- 
den I found  myself  among  a flock  of  bats,  owls, 
and  lawyers.  But  what  took  up  my  attention 


* Corpse. 


most,  was  one  dressed  in  white  feathers  that  re- 
presented a swan.  Ke  would  fain  have  found 
out  a Leda  among  the  fair  sex,  and  indeed  was 
the  most  unlucky  bird  in  the  company.  I was 
then  engaged  in  a discourse  with  a running- 
footman ; but  as  I treated  him  like  what  he  ap- 
peared to  be,  a Turkish  emperor  whispered  me 
in  the  ear,  desiring  me  “ to  use  him  civilly,  for 
that  it  was  his  master.”  I was  here  interrupted 
by  the  famous  large  figure  of  a woman  hung 
with  little  looking-glasses.  She  had  a great 
many  that  followed  her  as  she  passed  by  me, 
but  I would  not  have  her  value  herself  upon  that 
account,  since  it  was  plain  they  did  not  follow 
so  much  to  look  upon  her  as  to  see  themselves. 
The  next  I observed  was  a nun  making  an  as- 
signation with  a heathen  god ; for  I heard  them 
mention  the  Little  Piazza  in  Covent-gardeh.  I 
was  by  this  time  exceeding  hot  and  thirsty ; so 
that  I made  the  best  of  my  way  to  the  place 
where  wune  was  dealt  about  in  great  quantities. 
I had  no  sooner  presented  myself  before  the  ta- 
ble, but  a magician  seeing  me,  made  a circle 
over  my  head  with  his  wand,  and  seemed  to  do 
me  homage.  I was  at  a loss  to  account  for  his 
behaviour,  until  I recollected  who  I was ; this 
Imwever  drew  the  eyes  of  the  servants  upon  me, 
and  immediately  procured  me  a glass  of  excel- 
lent Champaign.  The  magician  said  I was  a 
spirit  of  an  adust  and  dry  constitution  ; and  de- 
sired that  1 might  have  another  refreshing  glass: 
adding  withal,  that  it  ought  to  be  a brimmer.  I 
took  it  in  my  hand,  and  drank  it  off  to  the  ma- 
gician. This  so  enlivened  me,  that  I led  him  by 
the  hand  into  the  next  room,  where  we  danced 
a rigadoon  together.  I was  here  a little  offended 
at  a jackanapes  of  a scaramouch,  that  cried  out, 
“ Avaunt  Satan ;”  and  gave  me  a little  tap  on 
my  left  shoulder  with  the  end  of  his  lath  sword. 
As  I was  considering  how  I ought  to  resent  this 
aflfront,  a well-shaped  person  that  stood  at  my 
left-hand,  in  the  figure  of  a bell-man,  cried  out 
with  a suitable  voice,  “ Past  twelve  o’clock.” 
This  put  me  in  mind  of  bed-time.  Accordingly 
I made  my  way  towards  the  door,  but  was  in- 
tercepted by  an  Indian  king,  a tall,  slender 
youth,  dressed  up  in  a most  beautiful  party-co- 
loured plumage.  He  regarded  my  habit  very 
attentively,  and  after  having  turned  me  about 
once  or  twice,  asked  me  “ whom  I had  been 
tempting  ?”  I could  not  tell  what  was  the  mat- 
ter with  me,  but  my  heart  leaped  as  soon  as  he 
touched  me,  and  was  still  in  greater  disorder, 
upon  my  hearing  his  voice.  In  short,  I found 
after  a little  discourse  with  him,  that  his  Indian 
majesty  was  my  dear  Leonora,  w’ho  knowing 
the  disguise  I had  put  on,  would  not  let  me  pass 
by  her  unobserved.  Her  awkward  manliness 
made  me  guess  at  her  sex,  and  her  own  confes- 
sion quickly  let  me  know  the  rest.  This  masque- 
rade did  more  for  me  than  a twelvemonth’s 
courtship  : for  it  inspired  her  with  such  tender 
sentiments,  that  I married  her  the  next  morn- 
ing. 

‘ How  happy  I shall  be  in  a wife  taken  out  of 
a masquerade,  I cannot  yet  tell ; but  I have  rea- 
son to  hope  the  best,  Leonora  having  assured  me 
it  was  the  first,  and  shall  be  the  last  time  of  her 
appearing  at  such  an  entertainment. 

‘ And  now,  sir,  having  given  you  the  history 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


207 


No.  155.] 

of  this  strange  evening,  which  looks  rather  like 
a dream  than  a reality,  it  is  my  request  to  you, 
that  you  will  oblige  the  world  with  a disserta- 
tion on  masquerades  in  general,  that  we  may 
know  how  far  they  are  useful  to  the  public,  and 
consequently  how  far  they  ought  to  be  encour- 
aged. I have  heard  of  two  or  three  very  odd  ac- 
cidents that  have  happened  upof  this  occasion, 
as  in  particular  of  a lawyer’s  being  now  big- 
bellied,  who  was'  present  at  the  first  of  these 
entertainments ; not  to  mention  (what  is  still 
more  strange)  an  old  man  with  a long  beard, 
who  was  got  with  child  by  a milk-maid.  But 
in  cases  of  this  nature,  where  there  is  such  a 
confusion  of  sex,  age,  and  quality,  men  are  apt 
to  report  rather  what  might  have  happened,  than 
what  really  came  to  pass.  Without  giving  cre- 
dit therefore  to  any  of  these  rumours,  I shall 
only  renew  my  petition  to  you,  that  you  will 
tell  us  your  opinion  at  large  of  these  matters, 
and  am,  sir,  &c.  LUCIFER.’ 

O’ 


No.  155.]  Tuesday^  September  8,  1713. 

Libelli  stoici  inter  sericos 

Jacere  pulvillos  aniant.  Hor.  Epod.  viii.  15. 

The  books  of  stoics  ever  chose 
On  silken  cushions  to  repose. 

I HAVE  often  wondered  that  learning  is  not 
thought  a proper  ingredient  in  the  education  of 
a woman  of  quality  or  fortune.  Since  they  have 
the  same  improveable  minds  as  the  male  part 
of  the  species,  why  should  they  not  be  cultivated 
by  the  same  method  ? Why  should  reason  be 
left  to  itself  in  one  of  the  sexes,  and  be  disci- 
plined with  so  much  care  in  the  other  ? 

There  are  some  reasons  why  learning  seems 
more  adapted  to  the  female  world,  than  to  the 
male.  As  in  the  first  place,  because  they  have 
more  spare  time  upon  their  hands,  and  lead  a 
more  sedentary  life.  Their  employments  are 
of  a domestic  nature,  and  not  like  those  of  the 
other  sex,  which  are  often  inconsistent  with 
study  and  contemplation.  The  excellent  lady, 
the  lady  Lizard,  in  the  space  of  one  summer, 
furnished  a gallery  with  chairs  and  couches  of 
her  own  and  her  daughters’  working;  and  at 
the  same  time  heard  all  doctor  Tillotson’s  ser- 
mons twice  over.  It  was  always  the  custom  for 
one  of  the  young  ladies  to  read,  while  the  others 
are  at  work ; so  that  the  learning  of  the  family 
is  not  at  all  prejudicial  to  its  manufactures.  I 
was  mightily  pleased  the  other  day  to  find  them 
all  busy  in  preserving  several  fruits  of  the  sea- 
son, with  the  Sparkier  in  the  midst  of  them, 
reading  over  the  Plurality  of  Worlds.  It  was 
very  entertaining  to  me  to  see  them  dividing 
their  speculations  between  jellies  and  stars,  and 
making  a sudden  transition  from  the  sun  to  an 
apricot,  or  from  the  Copernican  system  to  the 
figure  of  a cheesecake. 

A second  reason  why  women  should  apply 
themselves  to  useful  knowledge  rather  than 
men,  is  because  they  have  that  natural  gift  of 
speech  in  greater  perfection.  Since  they  have 
so  excellent  a talent,  such  a copia  verborum,  or 
plenty  of  words,  it  is  pity  they  should  not  put  it 
to  some  use.  If  the  female  tongue  will  be  in 
motion,  why  should  it  not  be  set  to  go  right  ? 


Could  they  discourse  about  the  spots  in  the  sun, 
it  might  divert  them  from  publishing  the  faults 
of  their  neighbours.  Could  they  talk  of  the 
difterent  aspects  and  conjunctions  of  the  planets, 
they  need  not  be  at  the  pains  to  comment  upon 
oglings  and  clande.stine  marriages.  In  short, 
were  they  furnished  with  matters  of  fact,  out  of 
arts  and  sciences,  it  would  now  and  then  be  a 
great  ease  to  their  invention. 

There  is  another  reason  why  those  especially 
who  are  women  of  quality,  should  apply  them- 
selves to  letters,  namely,  because  their  husbands 
are  generally  strangers  to  them. 

It  is  great  pity  there  should  be  no  knowledge 
in  a family.  For  my  own  part,  I am  concerned, 
when  I go  into  a great  house,  where  perhaps 
there  is  not  a single  person  that  can  spell,  unless 
it  be  by  chance  the  butler,  or  one  of  the  footmen. 
What  a figure  is  the  young  heir  likely  to  make, 
who  is  a dunce  both  by  father  and  mother’s  side  I 

If  we  look  into  the  histories  of  famous  women, 
we  find  many  eminent  philosophers  of  this  sex. 
Nay,  we  find  that  several  females  have  distin- 
guished themselves  in  those  sects  of  philosophy 
which  seem  almost  repugnant  to  their  natures. 
There  have  been  famous  female  Pythagoreans, 
notwithstanding  most  of  that  philosophy  con- 
sisted in  keeping  a secret,  and  that  the  disciple 
was  to  hold  her  tongue  five  years  together.  I 
need  not  mention  Portia,  who  was  a stoic  in 
petticoats ; nor  Hipparchia,  the  famous  she 
cynic,  who  arrived  at  such  a perfection  in  her 
studies,  that  she  conversed  with  her  husband, 
or  man-planter,  in  broad  day-light,  and  in  the 
open  streets. 

Learning  and  knowledge  are  perfections  in 
us,  not  as  we  are  men,  but  as  we  are  reasonable 
creatures,  in  which  order  of  beings  the  female 
world  is  upon  the  same  level  with  the  male.  We 
ought  to  consider  in  this  particular,  not  what  is 
the  sex,  but  what  is  the  species  to  which  they 
belong.  At  least  I believe  every  one  will  allow 
me,  that  a female  philosopher  is  not  so  absurd  a 
character,  and  so  opposite  to  the  sex,  as  a female 
gamester ; and  that  it  is  more  irrational  for  a 
woman  to  pass  away  half  a dozen  hours  at  cards 
or  dice,  than  in  getting  up  stores  of  useful  learn- 
ing. This  therefore  is  another  reason  why  I 
would  recommend  the  studies  of  knowledge  to 
the  female  world,  that  they  may  not  be  at  a loss 
how  to  employ  those  hours  that  lie  upon  their 
hands. 

I might  also  add  this  motive  to  my  fair  read- 
ers, that  several  of  their  sex  who  have  improved 
their  minds  by  books  and  literature,  have  raised 
themselves  to  the  highest  posts  of  honour  and 
fortune.  A neighbouring  nation  may  at  this 
time  furnish  us  with  a very  remarkable  instance 
of  this  kind  ; but  I shall  conclude  this  head 
with  the  history  of  Athenais,  which  is  a very 
signal  example  to  my  present  purpose. 

The  emperor  Theodosius  being  about  the  age 
of  one-and -twenty,  and  designing  to  take  a wife, 
desired  his  sister  Pulcheria  and  his  friend  Pau- 
linus  to  search  his  whole  empire  for  a woman 
of  the  most  exquisite  beauty  and  highest  accom- 
plishments. In  the  midst  of  this  search,  Athe- 
nais, a Grecian  virgin,  accidentally  offered  her- 
self. Her  father,  who  was  an  eminent  philoso- 
pher of  Athens,  and  had  bred  her  up  in  all  the 


208 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


learning  of  that  place,  at  his  death  left  her  but 
a very  small  portion,  in  yrhich  also  she  suffered 
great  hardships  from  the  injustice  of  her  two 
brothers.  This  forced  her  upon  a journey  to 
Constantinople,  where  she  had  a relation  who 
represented  her  case  to  Pulcheria  in  order  to 
obtain  some  redress  from  the  emperor.  By  this 
means  that  religious  princess  became  acquaint- 
ed with  Athenais,  whom  she  found  the  most 
beautiful  woman  of  her  age,  and  educated  under 
a long  course  of  philosophy  in  the  strictest  vir- 
tue, and  most  unspotted  innocence.  Pulcheria 
was  charmed  with  her  conversation,  and  imme- 
diately made  her  reports  to  the  emperor,  her 
brother  Theodosius.  The  character  she  gave, 
made  such  an  impression  on  him,  that  he  de- 
sired his  sister  to  bring  her  away  immediately 
to  the  lodgings  of  his  friend  Paulinus,  w'here  he 
found  her  beauty  and  her  conversation  beyond 
the  highest  idea  he  had  framed  of  them.  His 
friend  Paulinus  converted  her  to  Christianity, 
and  gave  her  the  name  of  Eudosia ; after  which 
the  emperor  publicly  espoused  her,  and  enjoyed 
all  the  happiness  in  his  marriage  which  he  pro- 
mised himself  from  such  a virtuous  and  learned 
bride.  She  not  only  forgave  the  injuries  which 
her  two  brothers  had  done  her,  but  raised  them 
to  great  honours  ; and  by  several  works  of  learn- 
ing, as  well  as  by  an  exemplary  life,  made  her- 
self so  dear  to  the  whole  empire,  that  she  had 
many  statues  erected  to  her  memory,  and  is  ce- 
lebrated by  the  fathers  of  the  church,  as  the  or- 
nament of  her  sex. 


No.  lo6.]  Wednesday,  September  9,  1713. 

— Masni  formica  laboris 

Ore  trahit  qiiodcunque  potest,  atqiie  addit  acervo, 
Q,uein  struit  baud  ignara,  ac  non  incauta  faturi. 
Q.U0B,  sinuil  inversum  contristat  Aquarius  annum, 
Non  usquain  prorepit,  et  illis  utitur  ante 
(iuoesitis  patiens—  Hor.  Lib.  1.  Sat.  i.  33. 

As  the  small  ant  (for  she  instructs  the  man, 

And  preaches  labour)  gathers  all  she  can. 

And  brings  it  to  increase  her  heap  at  home, 

Against  the  winter,  which  she  knows  will  come : 

But,  when  that  comes  she  creeps  abroad  no  more, 

But  lies  at  home,  and  feasts  upon  her  store.  Creech. 

In  my  last  Saturday’s  pap>er  I supposed  a 
mole-hill  inhabited  by  pismires  or  ants,  to  be  a 
lively  image  of  the  earth,  peopled  by  human 
creatures.  This  supposition  will  not  appear  too 
forced  or  strained  to  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  the  natural  history  of  these  little  insects  ; 
in  order  to  which  I shall  present  my  reader 
with  the  extract  of  a letter  upon  this  curious 
subject,  as  it  was  published  by  the  members  of 
the  French  academy,  and  since  translated  into 
English.  I must  confess  I was  never  in  my  life 
better  entertained  than  with  this  narrative, 
which  is  of  undoubted  credit  and  authority. 

‘ In  a room  next  to  mine,  which  had  been 
empty  for  a long  time,  there  was  upon  a window' 
a box  full  of  earth,  two  feet  deep,  and  fit  to  keep 
flowers  in.  That  kind  of  parterre  had  been  long 
uncultivated  ; and  therefore  it  was  covered  with 
old  plaster,  and  a great  deal  of  rubbish  that  fell 
irom  the  top  of  the  house  and  from  the  walls, 
w'hich,  togetlier  with  the  earth  formerly  imbibed 


[No.  156- 

with  water,  made  a kind  of  dry  and  barren  soiL 
That  place  lying  to  the  south,  and  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  wind  and  rain,  besides  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  a granary,  was  a most  delightful 
spot  of  ground  for  ants ; and  therefore  they  had 
made  three  nests  there,  without  doubt  for  the 
same  reason  that  men  build  cities  in  fruitful 
and  convenient  places,  near  springs  and  rivers. 

‘ Having  a mind  to  cultivate  some  flowers,  I 
took  a view  of  that  place,  and  removed  a tulip 
out  of  the  garden  into  that  box;  but  casting  my 
eyes  upon  the  ants,  continually  taken  up  with  a 
thousand  cares,  very  inconsiderable  w.ith  respect 
to  us,  but  of  the  greatest  importance  for  them, 
they  appeared  to  me  more  w’orthy  of  my  curi- 
osity than  aU  the  flowers  in  the  world.  I quickly 
removed  the  tulip,  to  be  the  admirer  and  restorer 
of  that  little  commonwealth.  This  was  the  only 
thing  they  wanted ; for  their  policy  and  the 
order  observed  among  them,  are  more  perfect 
than  those  of  the  wusest  republics  : and  there- 
fore  they  have  nothing  to  fear,  unless  a new’  le- 
gislator should  attempt  to  change  the  form  of 
their  government. 

‘ I made  it  my  business  to  procure  them  all 
sorts  of  conveniences.  I took  out  of  the  box 
every  thing  that  might  be  troublesome  to  them; 
and  frequently  visited  my  ants,  and  studied  all 
their  actions.  Being  used  to  go  to  bed  very 
late,  I went  to  see  them  work  in  a moon-shiny 
night ; and  I did  frequently  get  up  in  the  night, 
to  take  a view  of  their  labours.  I alw'ays  found 
some  going  up  and  dow’n,  and  very  busy  : one 
would  think  that  they  never  sleep.  Every  body 
knows  that  ants  come  out  of  their  holes  in  the 
day-time,  and  expose  to  the  sun  the  corn,  which 
they  keep  under  ground  in  the  night.  Those 
who  have  seen  ant-hillocks,  have  easily  per- 
ceived those  small  heaps  of  corn  about  their 
nests.  What  surprised  me  at  first  was,  that  my 
ants  never  brought  out  their  corn  but  in  the 
night,  when  the  moon  did  shine,  and  kept  it 
under  ground  in  the  day  time  : which  was  con- 
trary to  what  I had  seen,  and  saw  still  practised 
by  those  insects  in  other  places.  I quickly  found 
out  the  reason  of  it : there  was  a pigeon-house 
not  far  from  thence : pigeons  and  birds  would 
have  eaten  their  corn,  if  they  had  brought  it  out 
in  the  day  time.  It  is  highly  probable  they 
knew  it  by  exp>erience  ; and  I frequently  found 
pigeons  and  birds  in  that  place,  when  I w’ent  to 
it  in  a morning.  I quickly  delivered  them  from 
those  robbers  : I frighted  the  birds  away  with 
some  pieces  of  paper  tied  to  the  end  of  a string 
over  the  window.  As  for  the  pigeons,  I drove 
them  away  several  times  ; and  when  they  per- 
ceived that  the  place  was  more  frequented  than 
before,  they  never  came  to  it  again.  What  is 
most  admirable,  and  what  I could  hardly  believe, 
if  I did  not  know  it  by  experience,  is,  that  those 
ants  knew  some  days  after  that  they  had  nothing 
to  fear,  and  began  to  lay  out  their  corn  in  the 
suh.  However,  I perceived  they  were  not  fully 
convinced  of  being  out  of  all  danger  ; for  they 
durst  not  bring  out  their  provisions  all  at  once, 
but  by  degrees,  first  in  a small  quantity,  and 
without  any  great  order,  that  they  might  quickly 
carry  them  away,  in  case  of  any  misfortune, 
watching,  and  looking  every  way.  At  last,  be- 
ing persuaded  that  they  had  nothing  to  fear, 


No.  156.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


they  brought  out  all  their  corn,  almost  every  day, 
and  in  good  order,  and  carried  it  in  at  night. 

‘ There  is  a straight  hole  in  every  ant’s  nest, 
about  half  an  inch  deep,  and  then  it  goes  down 
sloping  into  a place  where  they  have  their  ma- 
gazine, which  I take  to  be  a different  place  from 
that  where  they  rest  and  eat.  For  it  is  highly 
improbable  that  an  ant,  which  is  a very  cleanly 
insect,  and  throws  out  of  her  nest  all  the  small 
remains  of  the  corn  on  which  she  feeds,  as  I 
have  observed  a thousand  times,  would  fill  up 
her  magazine,  and  mix  her  corn  with  dirt  and 
ordure. 

‘ Tlie  corn  that  is  laid  up  by  ants,  would  shoot 
under  ground,  if  those  insects  did  not  take  care 
to  prevent  it.  They  bite  off  all  the  buds  before 
they  lay  it  up;  and  therefore  the  corn  that  has 
lain  in  their  nests  will  produce  nothing.  Any 
one  may  easily  make  this  experiment,  and  even 
plainly  see  that  there  is  no  bud  in  their  corn. 
But  though  the  bud  be  bitten  off,  there  remains 
another  inconvenience,  that  corn  must  needs 
swell  and  rot  under  ground  ; and  therefore  it 
could  be  of  no  use  for  the  nourishment  of  ants. 
Those  insects  prevent  that  inconvenience  by 
their  labour  and  industry,  and  contrive  the  mat- 
ter so,  that  corn  will  keep  as  dry  in  their  nests 
as  in  our  granaries. 

‘ They  gather  many  small  particles  of  dry 
earth,  which  they  bring  every  day  out  of  their 
holes,  and  place  them  round  to  heat  them  in 
the  sun.  Every  ant  brings  a small  particle  of 
that  earth  in  her  pincers,  lays  it  by  the  hole, 
and  then  goes  and  fetches  another.  Thus,  in 
less  than  a quarter  of  an  hour,  one  may  see  a 
vast  number  of  such  small  particles  of  dry 
earth,  heaped  up  round  the  hole.  They  lay 
their  corn  under  ground  upon  that  earth,  and 
cover  it  with  the  same.  They  perform  this  work 
almost  every  day,  during  the  heat  of  the  sun  ; 
and  though  the  sun  went  from  the  window 
about  three  or  four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  they 
did  not  remove  their  corn  and  their  particles 
of  earth,  because  the  ground  was  very  hot,  until 
the  heat  was  over. 

‘ If  any  one  should  think  that  those  animals 
should  use  sand,  or  small  particles  of  brick  or 
stone,  rather  than  take  so  much  pains  about  dry 
earth  ; I answer,  that  upon  such  an  occasion, 
nothing  can  be  more  proper  than  earth  heated 
in  the  sun.  Corn  does  not  keep  upon  sand  ; 
besides,  a grain  of  corn  that  is  cut,  being  de- 
prived of  its  bud,  would  be  filled  with  small 
sandy  particles  that  could  not  easily  come  out. 
To  which  I add,  that  sand  consists  of  such  small 
particles,  that  an  ant  could  not  take  them  up 
one  after  another ; and,  therefore,  those  insects 
are  seldom  to  be  seen  near  rivers,  or  in  a very 
sandy  ground. 

‘ As  for  the  small  particles  of  brick  or  stone, 
the  least  moistness  would  join  them  together, 
and  turn  them  into  a kind  of  mastic,  which 
those  insects  could  not  divide.  Those  particles 
sticking  together  could  not  come  out  of  an  ant’s 
nest,  and  would  spoil  its  symmetry. 

‘ When  ants  have  brought  out  those  particles 
of  earth,  they  bring  out  their  corn  after  the  same 
manner,  and  place  it  round  the  earth.  Thus, 
one  may  see  two  heaps  surrounding  their  hole, 
one  of  dry  earth,  and  the  other  of  corn  ; and 
2 D 


209 

then  they  fetch  out  a remainder  of  dry  earth, 
on  which  doubtless  their  corn  was  laid  up. 

‘ Those  insects  never  go  about  this  work  but 
when  the  weather  is  clear,  and  the  sun  very 
hot.  I observed,  that  those  little  animals  having 
one  day  brought  out  their  corn  at  eleven  o’clock 
in  the  forenoon,  removed  it,  against  their  usual 
custom,  before  one  in  the  afternoon.  The  sun 
being  very  hot,  and  sky  very  clear,  I could  per- 
ceive no  reason  for  it.  But  half  an  hour  after, 
the  sky  began  to  be  overcast,  and  there  fell  a 
small  rain,  which  the  ants  foresaw  ; whereas, 
the  Milan  almanack  had  foretold  there  would 
be  no  rain  upon  that  day. 

‘ I have  said  before,  that  those  ants  which  I 
did  so  particularly  consider,  fetched  their  corn 
out  of  the  garret.  I went  very  frequently  into 
that  garret.  There  was  some  old  corn  in  it ; 
and  because  every  grain  was  not  alike,  I ob- 
served that  they  chose  the  best. 

‘ I know,  by  several  experiments,  that  those 
little  animals  take  great  care  to  provide  them- 
selves with  wheat  when  they  can  find  it,  and 
always  pick  out  the  best ; but  they  can  make 
shift  without  it.  When  they  can  get  no  wheat, 
they  take  rye,  oats,  millet,  and  even  crumbs  of 
bread  ; but  seldom  any  barley,  unless  it  be  in  a 
time  of  great  scarcity,  and  when  nothing  else 
can  be  had. 

‘ Being  willing  to  be  more  particularly  in- 
formed of  their  forecast  and  industry,  I put  a 
small  heap  of  wheat  in  a corner  of  the  room 
where  they  kept ; and  to  prevent  their  fetching 
corn  out  of  the  garret,  I sliut  up  the  window, 
and  stopped  all  the  holes.  Though  ants  are  very 
knowing,  I do  not  take  them  to  be  conjurers; 
and  therefore  they  could  not  guess  that  I had 
put  some  corn  in  that  room.  I perceived  for 
several  days  that  they  were  very  much  per- 
plexed, and  went  a great  way  to  fetch  their  pro- 
visions. I was  not  willing  for  some  time  to 
make  them  more  easy ; for  I had  a mind  to 
know  whether  they  w’ould  at  last  find  out  the 
treasure,  and  see  it  at  a great  distance  ; and 
whether  smelling  enabled  them  to  know  what 
is  good  for  their  nourishment.  Thus  they  were 
some  time  in  great  trouble,  and  took  a great 
deal  of  pains.  They  went  up  and  down  a great 
way,  looking  out  for  some  grains  of  corn  : they 
were  sometimes  disappointed,  and  sometimes 
they  did  not  like  their  corn,  after  many  long 
and  painful  excursions.  What  appeared  to  me 
wonderful  was,  that  none  of  them  came  home 
without  bringing  something  : one  brought  a 
grain  of  wheat,  another  a grain  of  rye  or  oats, 
or  a particle  of  dry  earth,  if  she  could  get  no- 
thing else. 

‘ The  window  upon  which  those  ants  had 
made  their  settlement,  looked  info  a garden,  and 
was  two  stories  high.  Some  went  to  the  farther 
end  of  the  garden,  others  to  the  fifth  story,  in 
quest  of  some  corn.  It  was  a very  hard  journey 
for  them,  especially  \vhen  they  came  home  load- 
ed with  a pretty  large  grain  of  corn,  which 
must  needs  be  a heavy  burden  for  an  ant, 
and  as  much  as  she  can  bear.  The  bringing 
of  that  grain  from  the  middle  of  the  garden  to 
the  nest,  took  up  four  hours  ; whereby  one  may 
judge  of  the  strength  and  prodigious  labour  of 
those  little  animals.  It  appears  from  thence, 
18* 


210 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  157. 


that  an  ant  works  as  hard  as  a man  who  should 
carry  a very  heavy  load  on  his  shoulders  almost 
every  day  for  the  space  of  four  leagues.  It  is 
true,  those  insects  do  not  take  so  much  pains 
upon  a flat  ground : but  then  how  great  is  the 
hardship  of  a poor  ant,  when  she  carries  a grain 
of  corn  to  the  second  story,  climbing  up  a wall 
with  her  head  downwards,  and  her  backside  up- 
wards ! None  can  have  a true  notion  of  it,  un- 
less they  see  those  little  animals  at  work  in  such 
a situation.  The  frequent  stops  they  made  in 
the  most  convenient  places,  are  a plain  indica- 
tion of  their  weariness.  Some  of  them  were 
strangely  perplexed,  and  could  not  get  to  their 
journey’s  end.  In  such  a case,  the  strongest 
ants,  or  those  that  are  not  so  weary,  having  car- 
ried their  corn  to  their  nests,  came  down  again 
to  help  them.  Some  are  so  unfortunate  as  to 
fall  down  with  their  load,  when  they  are  almost 
come  home.  When  this  happens,  they  seldom 
lose  their  corn,  but  carry  it  up  again. 

‘ I saw  one  of  the  smallest  carrying  a large 
grain  of  wheat  with  incredible  pains.  When 
she  came  to  the  box  where  the  nest  was,  she 
made  so  much  haste  that  she  fell  down  with  her 
load,  after  a very  laborious  march.  Such  an 
unlucky  accident  would  have  vexed  a philoso- 
pher. I went  down,  and  found  her  with  the  same 
corn  in  her  paws.  She  was  ready  to  climb  up 
again.  The  same  misfortune  happened  to  her 
three  times.  Sometimes  she  fell  in  the  middle 
of  her  way,  and  sometimes  higher  ; but  she 
never  let  go  her  hold,  and  was  not  discouraged. 
At  last  her  strength  failed  her : she  stopt ; and 
another  ant  helped  her  to  carry  her  load,  which 
was  one  of  the  largest  and  finest  grains  of  wheat 
that  an  ant  can  carry.  It  happens  sometimes, 
that  a corn  slips  out  of  their  paws  when  they 
are  climbing  up ; they  take  hold  of  it  again, 
when  they  can  find  it ; otherwise  they  look  for 
another,  or  take  something  else,  being  ashamed 
to  return  to  their  nest  without  bringing  some- 
thing. This  I have  experimented,  by  taking 
away  the  grain  which  they  looked  for.  All  those 
experiments  may  easily  be  made  by  any  one 
that  has  patience  enough  ; they  do  not  require 
so  great  a patience  as  that  of  ants  ; but  few 
people  are  capable  of  it.’  (Cr 


No.  157.]  Thursday,  September  10,  1713. 

Go  to  the  ant,  thou  sluggard ; consider  her  ways  and 
be  wise.  Prov.  vi.  6. 

It  has  been  observed  by  writers  of  morality, 
that  in  order  to  quicken  human  industry.  Provi- 
dence has  so  contrived  it,  that  our  daily  food  is 
not  to  be  procured  without  much  pains  and 
labour.  The  chace  of  birds  and  beasts,  the  se- 
veral arts  of  fishing,  with  all  the  different  kinds 
of  agriculture,  are  necessary  scenes  of  business, 
and  give  employment  to  the  greatest  part  of 
mankind.  If  we  look  into  the  brute  creation, 
we  find  all  its  individuals  engaged  in  a painful 
and  laborious  way  of  life,  to  procure  a necessary 
subsistence  for  themselves,  or  those  that  grow 
up  under  them.  The  preservation  of  their  being 
is  the  whole  business  of  it.  An  idle  man  is 
therefore  a kind  of  monster  in  the  creation.  All 


nature  is  busy  about  him  ; every  animal  he  sees 
reproaches  him.  Let  such  a man,  who  lies  as 
a burden  or  dead  weight  upon  the  species,  and 
contributes  nothing  either  to  the  riches  of  the 
commonwealth,  or  to  the  maintenance  of  him- 
self and  family,  consider  that  instinct  with 
which  Providence  has  endowed  the  ant,  and  by 
which  is  exhibited  an  example  of  industry  to 
rational  creatures.  This  is  set  forth  under  many 
surprising  instances  in  the  paper  of  yesterday, 
and  in  the  conclusion  of  that  narrative,  which 
is  as  follows  : 

‘ Thus  my  ants  were  forced  to  make  shift  for 
a livelihood,  when  I had  shut  up  the  garret,  out 
of  which  they  used  to  fetch  their  provisions.  At 
last,  being  sensible  that  it  would  be  a long  time 
before  they  could  discover  the  small  heap  of  corn 
which  I had  laid  up  for  them,  I resolved  to  show 
it  to  them. 

‘ In  order  to  know  how  far  their  industry 
could  reach,  I contrived  an  expedient,  which 
had  good  success.  The  thing  will  appear  in- 
credible to  those  who  never  considered  that  all 
animals  of  the  same  kind,  which  form  a society, 
are  more  knowing  than  others.  I took  one  of 
the  largest  ants,  and  threw  her  upon  that  small 
heap  of  wheat.  She  was  so  glad  to  find  herself 
at  liberty,  that  she  ran  away  to  her  nest,  without 
carrying  off  a grain  ; but  she  observed  it:  for 
an  hour  after,  alt  my  ants  had  notice  given 
them  of  such  a provision  ; and  I saw  most  of 
them  very  busy  in  carrying  away  the  corn  I had 
laid  up  in  the  room.  I leave  it  to  you  to  judge, 
whether  it  may  not  be  said,  that  they  have  a par- 
ticular way  of  communicating  their  knowledge 
to  one  another ; for  otherwise,  how  could  they 
know,  one  or  two  hours  after,  that  there  was 
corn  in  that  place  ? It  was  quickly  exhausted  ; 
and  I put  in  more,  but  in  a small  quantity,  to 
know  the  true  extent  of  their  appetite  or  pro- 
digious avarice  ; for  I make  no  doubt  but  they 
lay  up  provisions  against  the  winter.  We  read 
it  in  holy  scripture  ; a thousand  experiments 
teach  us  the  same  ; and  I do  not  believe  that 
any  experiment  has  been  made  that  shows  the 
contrary. 

‘ I have  said  before,  that  there  were  three 
ants’  nests  in  that  box  or  p>arterre,  which  formed, 
if  I may  say  so,  three  different  cities,  governed 
by  the  same  laws,  and  observing  the  same  order, 
and  the  same  customs.  However,  \here  was 
this  difference,  that  the  inhabitants  of  one  of 
those  holes,  seemed  to  be  more  knowing  and  in- 
dustrious than  their  neighbours.  The  ants  of 
that  nest  were  disposed  in  a better  order  ; their 
corn  was  finer  ; they  had  a greater  plenty  of 
provisions  ; their  nest  was  furnished  with  more 
inhabitants,  and  they  were  bigger  and  stronger. 
It  was  the  principal  and  the  capital  nest.  Nay, 
I observed  that  those  ants  were  distinguished 
from  the  rest,  and  had  some  pre-eminence  over 
them. 

‘ Though  the  box  full  of  earth,  where  the 
ants  had  made  their  settlement,  was  generally 
free  from  rain,  yet  it  rained  sometimes  upon  it, 
when  a certain  wind  blew.  It  was  a great  in- 
convenience for  those  insects-  Ants  are  afraid 
of  water;  and  when  they  go  a great  way  in 
quest  of  provisions,  and  are  surprised  by  the 
rain,  they  shelter  themselves  under  some  tile,  or 


No.  157.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


211 


something  else,  and  do  not  come  out  until  the 
rain  is  over.  The  ants  of  the  principal  nest 
found  out  a wonderful  expedient  to  keep  out  the 
rain  : there  was  a small  piece  of  a flat  slate, 
which  they  laid  over  the  hole  of  their  nest  in 
the  day-time,  when  they  foresaw  it  would  rain, 
and  almost  every  night.  Above  fifty  of  those 
little  animals,  especially  the  strongest,  surround- 
ed that  piece  of  slate,  and  drew  it  equally  in  a 
wonderful  order.  They  removed  it  in  the  morn- 
ing ; and  nothing  could  be  more  curious  than  to 
see  those  little  animals  about  such  a work. 
They  had  made  the  ground  uneven  about  their 
nest,  insomuch  that  the  slate  did  not  lie  flat 
upon  it,  but  left  a free  passage  underneath.  The 
ants  of  the  two  other  nests  did  not  so  well  suc- 
ceed in  keeping  out  the  rain : they  laid  over 
their  holes  several  pieces  of  old  and  dry  plaster, 
one  upon  the  other  ; but  they  were  still  troubled 
with  the  rain,  and  the  next  day  they  took  a 
world  of  pains  to  repair  the  damage.  Hence  it 
is,  that  those  insects  are  so  frequently  to  be 
found  under  tiles,  where  they  settle  themselves 
to  avoid  the  rain.  Their  nests  are  at  all  times 
covered  with  those  tiles,  without  any  encum- 
brance, and  they  lay  out  their  corn  and  their 
dry  earth  in  the  sun  about  the  tiles,  as  one  may 
see  every  day.  I took  care  to  cover  the  two 
ants’  nests  that  were  troubled  with  the  rain. 
As  for  the  capital  nest,  there  was  no  need  of 
exercising  my  charity  towards  it, 

* M.  de  la  Loubere  says,  in  his  relation  of  Si- 
am, that  in  a certain  part  of  that  kingdom,  which 
lies  open  to  great  inundations,  all  the  ants  make 
their  settlements  upon  trees.  No  ants’  nests  are 
to  be  seen  any  where  else.  I need  not  insert 
here  what  that  author  says  about  those  insects : 
you  may  see  his  relation. 

‘ Here  follows  a curious  experiment,  which  I 
made  upon  the  same  ground,  where  I had  three 
ants’  nests.  I undertook  to  make  a fourth,  and 
went  about  it  in  the  following  manner.  In  a 
corner  of  a kind  of  a terrace,  at  a considerable 
distance  from  the  box,  I found  a hole  swarming 
with  ants,  much  larger  than  all  those  I had  al- 
ready seen ; but  they  were  not  so  well  provided 
with  corn,  nor  under  so  good  a government.  I 
made  a hole  in  the  box  like  that  of  an  ant’s  nest, 
and  laid,  as  it  were,  the  foundations  of  a new 
city.  Afterwards  I got  as  many  ants  as  I could 
out  of  the  nest  in  the  terrace,  and  put  them  into 
a bottle,  to  give  them  a new  habitation  in  my 
box ; and  because  I was  afraid  they  would  re- 
turn to  the  terrace,  I destroyed  their  old  nest, 
pouring  boiling  water  into  the  hole,  to  kill  those 
ants  that  remained  in  it.  In  the  next  place,  I 
filled  the  new  hole  with  the  ants  that  were  in 
the  bottle ; but  none  of  them  would  stay  in  it. — 
They  went  away  in  less  than  two  hours;  which 
made  me  believe  that  it  was  impossible  to  make 
a fourth  settlement  in  my  box. 

‘ Two  or  three  days  after,  going  accidentally 
over  the  terrace,  I was  much  surprised  to  see 
the  ants’  nests  which  I had  destroyed,  very  art- 
fully repaired.  I resolved  then  to  destroy  it  en- 
tirely, and  to  settle  those  ants  in  my  box.  To 
succeed  in  my  design,  I put  some  gunpowder 
and  brimstone  into  their  hole,  and  sprung  a 
mine,  whereby  the  whole  nest  was  overthrown ; 
and  then  I carried  as  many  ants  as  I could  get. 


into  the  place  which  I designed  for  them.  It 
happened  to  be  a very  rainy  day,  and  it  rained 
all  night;  and  therefijre  they  remained  in  the 
new  hole  all  that  time.  In  the  morning  when 
the  rain  was  over,  most  of  them  went  away  to 
repair  their  old  habitation ; but  finding  it  im- 
praetieable  by  reason  of  the  smell  of  the  powder 
and  brimstone,  whieh  kills  them,  they  came 
back  again,  and  settled  in  the  place  I had  ap- 
pointed for  them.  They  quickly  grew  acquaint- 
ed with  their  neighbours,  and  received  from 
them  all  manner  of  assistance  out  of  their  holes. 
As  for  the  inside  of  their  nest,  none  but  them- 
selves were  concerned  in  it,  according  to  the 
inviolable  laws  established  among  those  animals. 

‘ An  ant  never  goes  into  any  other  nest  but 
her  own ; and  if  she  should  venture  to  do  it,  she 
would  be  turned  out,  and  severely  punished.  I 
have  often  taken  an  ant  out  of  one  nest,  to  put 
her  into  another ; but  she  quickly  came  out,  be- 
ing  warmly  pursued  by  two  or  three  other  ants. 
I tried  the  same  experiment  several  times  with 
the  same  ant;  but  at  last  the  other  ants  grew 
impatient,  and  tore  her  to  pieces.  I have  often 
frighted  some  ants  with  my  fingers,  and  pur- 
sued them  as  far  as  another  hole,  stopping  all 
the  passages  to  prevent  their  going  to  their  own 
nest.  It  was  very  natural  for  them  to  fly  into 
the  next  hole.  Many  a man  would  not  be  so 
cautious,  and  would  throw  himself  out  of  the 
windows,  or  into  a well,  if  he  were  pursued  by 
assassins.  But  the  ants  I am  speaking  of  avoid- 
ed going  into  any  other  hole  but  their  own,  and 
rather  tried  all  other  ways  of  making  their  es- 
cape. They  never  fled  into  another  nest,  but  at 
the  last  extremity  ; and  sometimes  chose  rather 
to  be  taken,  as  I have  often  experienced.  It  is 
therefore  an  inviolable  custom  among  those  in- 
sects, not  to  go  into  any  other  hole  but  their 
own.  They  do  not  exercise  hospitality ; but  they 
are  very  ready  to  help  one  another  out  of  their 
holes.  They  put  down  their  loads  at  the  en- 
trance of  a neighbouring  nest ; and  those  that 
live  in  it  carry  them  in. 

‘ They  keep  up  a sort  of  trade  among  them- 
selves; and  it  is  not  true  that  those  insects  are 
not  for  lending : I know  the  contrary.  They 
lend  their  corn  ; they  make  exchanges ; they  are 
always  ready  to  serve  one  another ; and  I can 
assure  you,  that  more  time  and  patience  would 
have  enabled  me  to  observe  a thousand  things 
more  curious  and  wonderful  than  what  I have 
mentioned.  For  instance,  how  they  lend  and 
recover  their  loans  ; whether  it  be  in  the  same 
quantity,  or  with  usury ; whether  they  pay  the 
strangers  that  work  for  them.  See.  I do  not 
think  it  impossible  to  examine  all  those  things: 
and  it  would  be  a great  euriosity  to  know  by 
what  maxims  they  govern  themselves.  Perhaps 
such  a knowledge  might  be  of  some  use  to  us. 

‘ They  are  never  attacked  by  any  enemies  in 
a body,  as  it  is  reported  of  bees.  Their  only  fear 
proeeeds  from  birds,  which  sometimes  eat  their 
corn  when  they  lay  it  out  in  the  sun ; but  they 
keep  it  under  ground  when  they  are  afraid  of 
thieves.  It  is  said  that  some  birds  eat  them ; 
but  I never  saw  any  instance  of  it.  They  are 
also  infested  by  small  worms ; but  they  turn 
them  out  and  kill  them.  I observed  that  they 
punish  those  ants  which  probably  had  been 


212 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


wanting  to  their  duty;  nay,  sometimes  they 
killed  them;  which  they  .did  in  the  following 
manner : Three  or  four  ants  fell  upon  one,  and 
pulled  her  several  ways,  until  she  was  torn  in 
pieces.  Generally  speaking,  they  live  very  qui- 
etly; from  whence  I infer  that  they  have  a very 
severe  discipline  among  themselves,  to  keep  so 
good  an  order ; or  that  they  are  great  lovers  of 
peace  if  they  have  no  occasion  for  any  discipline. 

‘ Was  there  ever  a greater  union  in  any  com- 
monwealth ? Every  thing  is  common  among 
them;  which  is  not  to  be  seen  any  where  else. 
Bees,  of  which  we  are  told  so  many  wonderful 
things,  have  each  of  them  a hole  in  their  hives; 
their  honey  is  their  own ; every  bee  minds  her 
own  concerns.  The  same  may  be  said  of  all 
other  animals.  They  frequently  fight,  to  deprive 
one  another  of  their  portion.  It  is  not  so  with 
ants  : they  have  nothing  of  their  own ; a grain 
of  corn  which  an  ant  carries  home,  is  deposited 
in  a common  stock.  It  is  not  designed  for  her 
own  use,  but  for  the  whole  community ; there  is 
no  distinction  between  a private  and  a common 
interest.  An  ant  never  works  for  herself,  but 
for  the  society. 

‘ Whatever  misfortune  happens  to  them,  their 
care  and  industry  find  out  a remedy  for  it;  no- 
thing discourages  them.  If  you  destroy  their 
nests,  they  will  be  repaired  in  two  days.  Any 
body  may  easily  see  how  difficult  it  is  to  drive 
them  out  of  their  habitations,  without  destroy- 
ing the  inhabitants;  for  as  long  as  there  are  any 
left,  they  will  maintain  their  ground. 

‘ I had  almost  forgot  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  mer- 
cury has  hitherto  proved  a mortal  poison  for 
them ; and  that  it  is  the  most  effectual  way  of 
destroying  those  insects.  I can  do  something 
for  them  in  this  case : perhaps  you  will  hear  in 
a little  time  that  I have  reconciled  them  to  mer- 
cury.’ O" 


No.  158.]  Friday,  September  11,  1713. 

Gnossius  haec  Rhadamanthus  habet  durissima  regna  ; 
Castagatque,  auditque  dolos;  subigitque  fateri 
Q,u8e  quis  apud  superos,  furto  bfitatus  inani, 

Distulit  in  serani  commissa  piacula  mortem. 

Virg.  tEii.  vi.  566. 

These  are  the  realms  of  unrelenting  fate  : 

And  awful  Rhadamanthus  rules  the  state. 

He  hears  and  judges  each  committed  crime ; 

Inquires  into  the  manner,  place,  and  time. 

The  conscious  wretch  must  all  his  acts  reveal, 

Loth  to  confess,  unable  to  conceal. 

From  the  first  moment  of  his  vital  breath, 

To  the  last  hour  of  unrepenting  death.  Dryden. 

I WAS  yesterday  pursuing  the  hint  which  I 
mentioned  in  my  last  paper,  and  comparing  to- 
gether the  industry  of  man  with  that  of  other 
creatures ; in  which  I could  not  but  observe, 
that  notwithstanding  we  are  obliged  by  duty  to 
keep  ourselves  in  constant  employ,  after  the 
same  manner  as  inferior  animals  are  prompted 
to  it  by  instinct,  we  fall  very  short  of  them  in 
this  particular.  We  are  here  the  more  inexcus- 
able, because  there  is  a greater  variety  of  busi- 
ness to  which  we  may  apply  ourselves.  Reason 
opens  to  us  a large  field  of  affairs,  which  other 
creatures  are  not  capable  of.  Beasts  of  prey, 
and  I believe  of  all  other  kinds,  in  their  natural 


[No.  158. 

state  of  being,  divide  their  time  between  action 
and  rest.  They  are  always  at  work,  or  asleep. 
In  short  their  waking  hours  are  wholly  taken 
up  in  seeking  after  their  food,  or  in  consuming 
it.  The  human  species  only,  to  the  great  re- 
proach of  our  natures,  are  filled  with  complaints, 
that  ‘the  day  hangs  heavy  on  them,’  that  ‘they 
do  not  know  what  to  do  with  themselves,’  that 
‘ they  are  at  a loss  how  to  pass  away  their  time,’ 
with  many  of  the  like  shameful  murmurs,  which 
we  often  find  in  the  mouths  of  those  who  are 
styled  ‘ reasonable  beings.’  How  monstrous  are 
such  expressions  among  creatures  who  have  the 
labours  of  the  mind,  as  well  as  those  of  the  body, 
to  furnish  them  Vv'ith  proper  employments ! 
Who,  besides  the  business  of  their  proper  call- 
ings and  professions,  can  apply  themselves  to 
the  duties  of  religion,  to  meditation,  to  the  read- 
ing of  useful  books,  to  discourse  ! In  a word, 
who  may  exercise  themselves  in  the  unbounded 
pursuits  of  knowledge  and  virtue,  and  every 
hour  of  their  lives  make  themselves  wiser  or 
better  than  they  were  before  ! 

After  having  been  taken  up  for  some  time  in 
this  course  of  thought,  I diverted  myself  with  a 
book,  according  to  my  usual  custom,  in  order  to 
unbend  my  mind  before  I went  to  sleep.  The  book 
I made  use  of  on  this  occasion  was  Lucian, 
where  I amused  my  thoughts  for  about  an  hour 
among  the  dialogues  of  the  dead,  which  in  all 
probability  produced  the  following  dream. 

I was  conveyed,  methought,  into  the  entrance 
of  the  infernal  regions,  where  I saw  Rhadaman- 
thus,  one  of  the  judges  of  the  dead,  seated  in  his 
tribunal.  On  his  left  hand  stood  the  keeper  of 
Erebus,  on  his  right  the  keeper  of  Elysium.  I 
was  told  he  sat  upon  women  that  day,  there 
being  several  of  the  sex  lately  arrived  who  had 
not  yet  their  mansions  assigned  them.  I w-as 
surprised  to  hear  him  ask  every  one  of  them  the 
same  question,  namely,  ‘ What  they  had  been 
doing  V Upon  this  question  being  proposed  to 
the  whole  assembly,  they  stared  one  upon  an- 
other, as  not  knowing  what  to  answer.  He  then 
interrogated  each  of  them  separately.  ‘ Ma- 
dam,’ says  he  to  the  first  of  them,  ‘ you  have 
been  upon  the  earth  about  fifty  years  : what 
have  you  been  doing  there  all  this  while  ?’ 

‘ Doing !’  says  she,  ‘ really  I do  not  know  what 
I have  been  doing  : I desire  I may  have  time 
given  me  to  recollect.’  After  about  half  an 
hour’s  pause  she  told  him,  that  she  had  been 
playing  at  crimp ; upon  which  Rhadamanthus 
beckoned  to  the  keeper  on  his  left  hand,  to  take 
her  into  custody.  ‘ And  you,  madam,’  says  the 
judge,  ‘ that  look  with  such  a soft  and  languish- 
ing air  ; I think  you  set  out  for  this  place  in 
your  nine-and-twentieth  year ; what  have  you 
been  doing  all  this  while  V ‘ I had  a great  deal 
of  business  on  my  hands,’  says  she,  ‘being 
taken  up  the  first  twelve  years  of  my  life,  in 
dressing  a jointed  baby,  and  all  the  remaining 
part  of  it  in  reading  plays  and  romances.’  ‘ Very 
well,’  says  he,  ‘you  have  employed  your  time  to 
good  purpose.  Away  with  her  !’  The  ne.xt  was 
a plain  country-woman.  ‘ Well,  mistress,’  says 
Rhadamanthus,  ‘ and  what  have  you  been  do- 
ing ?’  ‘ An’t  please  your  worship,’  says  she,  ‘ I 
did  not  live  quite  forty  years ; and  in  that  time 
brought  my  husband  seven  daughters,  made 


No.  159.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


213 


him  nine  thousand  cheeses,  and  left  my  eldest 
girl  with  him,  to  look  after  his  house  in  my  ab- 
sence, and  who,  I may  venture  to  say,  is  as 
pretty  a housewife  as  any  in  the  country.’  liha- 
damanthus  smiled  at  the  simplicity  of  the  good 
woman,  and  ordered  the  keeper  of  Elysium  to 
take  her  into  his  care.  ‘ And  you,  fair  lady,’  says 
he,  ‘ what  have  you  been  doing  these  five-and- 
thirty  years  ■?’  ‘ I have  been  doing  no  hurt,  I as- 
sure you,  sir,’  said  she.  ‘ That  is  well,’  said  he  ; 
‘ but  what  good  have  you  been  doing?’  The  lady 
was  in  great  confusion  at  this  question,  and  not 
knowing  what  to  answer,  the  two  keepers  leaped 
out  to  seize  her  at  the  same  time ; the  one  took 
her  by  the  hand  to  convey  her  to  Elysium,  the 
other  caught  hold  of  her  to  carry  her  away  to 
Erebus.  But  Rhadamanthus  observing  an  in- 
genuous modesty  in  her  countenance  and  beha- 
viour, bid  them  both  let  her  loose,  and  set  her 
aside  for  a re-examination  when  he  was  more 
at  leisure.  An  old  woman,  of  a proud  and  sour 
look,  presented  herself  next  at  the  bar,  and  be- 
ing asked,  what  she  had  been  doing  ? ‘ Truly,’ 
says  she,  ‘ I lived  three-score  and  ten  years  in 
a very  wicked  world,  and  was  so  angry  at  the 
behaviour  of  a parcel  of  young  flirts,  that  I 
passed  most  of  my  last  years  in  condemning  the 
follies  of  the  times ; I was  every  day  blaming 
the  silly  conduct  of  people  about  me,  in  order  to 
deter  those  I conversed  with,  from  falling  into 
the  like  errors  and  miscarriages.’  ‘ Very  well,’ 
says  Rhadamanthus,  ‘ but  did  you  keep  the 
same  watchful  eye  over  your  own  actions  ?’ 
‘ Why,  truly,’  says  she,  ‘ I was  so  taken  up  with 
publishing  the  faults  of  others,  that  I had  no 
time  to  consider  my  own.’  ‘ Madam,’  says  Rha- 
damanthus,  ‘ be  pleased  to  file  off  to  the  left,  and 
make  room  for  the  venerable  matron  that  stands 
behind  you.’  ‘ Old  gentlewoman,’  says  he,  ‘ I 
think  you  are  four-score.  You  have  heard  the 
question.  What  have  you  been  doing  so  long  in 
the  world  ?’  ‘ Ah,  sir,’  says  she,  ‘ I have  been 

doing  what  I should  not  have  done,  but  I had 
made  a firm  resolution  to  have  changed  my  life, 
if  I had  not  been  snatched  off  by  an  untimely 
end.’  ‘ Madam,’  says  he,  ‘ you  will  please  to  fol- 
low your  leader ;’  and  spying  another  of  the 
same  age,  interrogated  her  in  the  same  form. 
To  which  the  matron  replied,  ‘ I have  been  the 
wife  of  a husband  who  was  as  dear  to  me  in  his 
old  age  as  in  his  youth.  I have  been  a mother, 
and  very  happy  in  my  children,  whom  I endea- 
voured to  bring  up  in  every  thing  that  is  good. 
My  eldest  son  is  blest  by  the  poor,  and  beloved 
by  every  one  that  knows  him.  I lived  within 
my  own  family,  and  left  it  much  more  wealthy 
than  I found  it.’  Rhadamanthus,  who  knew  the 
value  of  the  old  lady,  smiled  upon  her  in  such 
a manner,  that  the  keeper  of  Elysium,  who 
knew  his  office,  reached  out  his  hand  to  her. 
He  no  sooner  touched  her  but  her  wrinkles 
vanished,  her  eyes  sparkled,  her  cheeks  glowed 
with  blushes,  and  she  appeared  in  full  bloom 
and  beauty.  A young  woman  observing  that 
this  officer,  who  conducted  the  happy  to  Ely- 
sium, was  so  great  a beautifier,  longed  to  be  in 
his  hands  ; so  that  pressing  through  the  crowd, 
she  was  the  next  that  appeared  at  the  bar  ; and 
being  asked  what  she  had  been  doing  the  five- 
and-twenty  years  that  she  had  passed  in  the 


world,’  ‘ I have  endeavoured,’  says  she,  ‘ ever 
since  I came  to  years  of  discretion,  to  make 
myself  lovely,  and  gain  admirers.  In  order  to 
it,  I passed  my  time  in  bottling  up  May-dew, 
inventing  white-washes,  mixing  colours,  cutting 
out  patches,  consulting  my  glass,  suiting  iny 
complexion,  tearing  oft'  my  tucker,  sinking  my 

stays ’ Rhadamanthus,  without  hearing  her 

out,  gave  the  sign  to  take  her  off.  Upon  the  ap- 
proach of  the  keeper  of  Erebus  her  colour  faded, 
her  face  was  puckered  up  with  wrinkles,  and 
her  whole  person  lost  in  deformity. 

I was  then  surprised  with  a distant  sound  of 
a whole  troop  of  females  that  came  forward, 
laughing,  singing,  and  dancing.  I was  very 
desirous  to  know  the  reception  they  would  meet 
with,  and  withal  was  very  apprehensive  that 
Rhadamanthus  would  spoil  their  mirth  ; but  at 
their  nearer  approach  the  noise  grew  so  very 
great  that  it  awakened  me. 

I lay  some  time,  reflecting  in  myself  on  the 
oddness  of  this  dream,  and  could  not  forbear 
asking  my  own  heart,  what  I was  doing  ? I 
answered  myself,  that  I was  writing  Guardians. 
If  my  readers  make  as  good  a use  of  this  work 
as  I design  they  should,  I hope  it  will  never  be 
imputed  to  me  as  a work  that  is  vain  and  un- 
profitable. 

I shall  conclude  this  paper  with  recommend- 
ing to  them  the  same  short  self-examination. 
If  every  one  of  them  frequently  lays  his  hand 
upon  his  heart,  and  considers  what  he  is  doing, 
it  will  check  him  in  all  the  idle,  or  what  is 
worse,  the  vicious  moments  of  life;  lift  up  his 
mind  when  it  is  running  on  in  a series  of  in- 
different actions,  and  encourage  him  when  he 
is  engaged  in  those  which  are  virtuous  and 
laudable.  In  a word,  it  will  very  much  alleviate 
that  guilt  which  the  best  of  men  have  reason  to 
acknowledge  in  their  daily  confessions,  of  ‘ leav- 
ing undone  those  things  which  they  ought  to 
have  done,  and  of  doing  those  things  which 
they  ought  not  to  have  done.’  O’ 


No.  159.]  Saturday,  September  12,  1713. 

PrsEsens  vel  imo  tollere  de  gradu 
Moitale  corpus,  vel  superbos 
Vertere  funeribus  triumphos. 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Od.  xxxv.  2. 
Whose  force  is  strong,  and  quick  to  raise 
The  lowest  to  the  highest  place  ; 

Or  with  a wond’rous  fall 
To  bring  the  haughty  lower. 

And  turn  proud  triumphs  to  a funeral.  Creech. 

‘Sir, — Having  read  over  your  paper  of  Tues- 
day last,  in  which  you  recommend  the  pursuits 
of  wisdom  and  knowledge  to  those  of  the  fair 
sex,  who  have  much  time  lying  upon  their 
hands,  and  among  other  motives  make  use  of 
this,  that  several  women,  thus  accomplished, 
have  raised  themselves  by  it  to  considerable 
posts  of  honour  and  fortune : 1 shall  beg  leave 
to  give  you  an  instance  of  this  kind,  which 
many  now  living  can  testify  the  truth  of,  and 
which  I can  assure  you  is  matter  of  fact. 

‘ About  twelve  years  ago,  I was  familiarly 
acquainted  with  a gentleman  who  was  in  a post 
that  brought  him  a yearly  revenue,  sufficient  to 
live  very  handsomely  upon.  He  had  a wife,  and 


214 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


no  child  but  a daughter,  whom  he  bred  up,  as  I 
thought,  too  high  for  one  that  could  expect  no 
other  fortune  than  such  a one  as  her  father 
could  raise  out  of  the  income  of  his  place  ; 
which,  as  they  managed,  it  was  scarce  sufficient 
for  their  ordinary  expenses.  Miss  Betty  had 
always  the  best  sort  of  clothes,  and  was  hardly 
allowed  to  keep  company  but  with  those  above 
her  rank ; so  that  it  was  no  wonder  she  grew 
proud  and  haughty  towards  those  she  looked 
upon  as  her  inferiors.  There  lived  by  them  a 
barber  who  had  a daughter  about  Miss’s  age, 
that  could  speak  French,  had  read  several  books 
at  her  leisure  hours,  and  was  a perfect  mistress 
of  her  needle,  and  in  all  kinds  of  female  manu- 
facture. She  was  at  the  same  time  a pretty, 
modest,  witty  girl.  She  was  hired  to  come  to 
Miss  an  hour  or  two  every  day,  to  talk  French 
with  her,  and  teach  her  to  work ; but  Miss  al- 
ways treated  her  with  great  contempt ; and 
when  Molly  gave  her  any  advice,  rejected  it 
with  scorn. 

‘ About  the  same  time  several  young  fellows 
made  their  addresses  to  Miss  Betty,  who  had 
indeed  a great  deal  of  wit  and  beauty,  had  they 
not  been  infected  with  so  much  vanity  and  self 
conceit.  Among  the  rest  was  a plain  sober 
young  man,  who  loved  her  almost  to  distraction. 
His  passion  was  the  common  talk  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  used  to  be  often  discoursing  of 

Mr.  T ’s  angel,  for  that  was  the  name  he 

always  gave  her  in  ordinary  conversation.  As 
his  circumstances  were  very  indifferent,  he  be- 
ing a younger  brother,  Mrs.  Betty  rejected  him 
with  disdain.  Insomuch,  that  the  young  man, 
as  is  usual  among  those  who  are  crossed  in 
love,  put  himself  aboard  the  fleet,  with  a reso- 
lution to  seek  his  fortune,  and  forget  his  mis- 
tress. This  was  very  happy  for  him,  for  in  a 
very  few  years,  being  concerned  in  several  cap- 
tures, he  brought  home  with  him  an  estate  of 
about  twelve  thousand  pounds. 

‘ Meanwhile  days  and  years  went  on.  Miss 
lived  high,  and  learnt  but  little,  most  of  her 
time  being  employed  in  reading  plays  and  prac- 
tising to  dance,  in  which  she  arrived  at  great 
perfection.  When  of  a sudden,  at  a change  of 
ministry,  her  father  lost  his  place,  and  was 
forced  to  leave  London,  where  he  could  no  long- 
er live  upon  the  foot  he  had  formerly  done.  Not 
many  years  after,  I was  told  the  poor  gentle- 
man was  dead,  and  had  left  his  widow  and 
daughter  in  a very  desolate  condition,  but  I 
could  not  learn  where  to  find  them,  though  I 
made  what  inquiry  I could  ; and  I must  own  I 
immediately  suspected  their  pride  would  not 
suffer  them  to  be  seen  or  relieved  by  any  of 
their  former  acquaintance.  I had  left  inquiring 
after  them  for  some  years,  when  I happened, 
not  long  ago,  as  I was  asking  at  a house  for  a 
gentleman  I had  some  business  with,  to  be  led 
into  a parlour  by  a handsome  young  woman, 
who  I presently  fancied  was  that  very  daughter 
I had  so  long  sought  in  vain.  My  suspicion 
increased,  when  I observed  her  to  blush  at  the 
sight  of  me,  and  to  avoid,  as  much  as  possible, 
looking  upon,  or  speaking  to  me:  “Madam,” 
said  I,  “ are  not  you  Mrs.  such-a-one  ?”  At 
which  words  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks, 
and  she  would  fain  have  retired  without  giving 


[No.  159. 

me  an  answer ; but  I stopped  her,  and  being  to 
wait  a while  for  the  gentleman  I was  to  speak  to, 
I resolved  not  to  lose  this  opportunity  of  satis- 
fying my  curiosity.  I could  not  well  discern 
by  her  dress,  which  was  genteel  though  not  fine, 
whether  she  was  the  mistress  of  the  house,  or 
only  a servant ; but  supposing  her  to  be  the  first, 
“ I am  glad,  madam,”  said  I,  “ after  having 
long  inquired  after  you,  to  have  so  happily  met 
with  you,  and  to  find  you  mistress  of  so  fine  a 
place.”  These  words  were  like  to  have  spoiled  all, 
and  threw  her  into  such  a disorder,  that  it  was 
some  time  before  she  could  recover  herself ; but 
as  soon  as  she  was  able  to  speak,  “ Sir,”  said 
she,  “ you  are  mistaken ; I am  but  a servant.” 
Her  voice  fell  in  these  last  words,  and  she  burst 
again  into  tears.  I was  sorry  to  have  occasioned 
in  her  so  much  grief  and  confusion,  and  said 
what  I could  to  comfort  her.  “Alas,  sir,”  said 
she,  “ my  condition  is  much  better  than  I de- 
serve, I have  the  kindest  and  best  of  women  for 
my  mistress.  She  is  wife  to  the  gentleman  you 
come  to  speak  withal.  You  know  her  very 
well,  and  have  often  seen  her  with  me.”  To 
make  my  story  short,  I found  that  my  late 
friend’s  daughter  was  now  a servant  to  the  bar- 
ber’s daughter,  whom  she  had  formerly  treated 
so  disdainfully.  The  gentleman  at  whose  house 
I now  was,  fell  in  love  with  Moll,  and  being 
master  of  a great  fortune,  married  her,  and  lives 
with  her  as  happily,  and  as  much  to  his  satis- 
faction as  he  could  desire.  He  treats  her  with 
all  the  friendship  and  respect  possible,  but  not 
with  more  than  her  behaviour  and  good  qualities 
deserve.  And  it  was  with  a great  deal  of  plea- 
sure I heard  her  maid  dwell  so  long  upon  her 
commendation.  She  informed  me,  that  after 
her  father’s  death,  her  mother  and  she  lived  for 
a w’hile  together  in  great  poverty.  But  her 
mother’s  spirit  could  not  bear  the  thoughts  of 
asking  relief  of  any  of  her  own,  or  her  hus- 
band’s acquaintance,  so  they  retired  from  all 
their  friends,  until  they  were  providentially  dis- 
covered by  this  new-married  woman,  who 
heaped  on  them  favours  upon  favours.  Her 
mother  died  shortly  after,  who,  while  she  lived, 
was  better  pleased  to  see  her  daughter  a beg- 
gar, than  a servant ; but  being  freed  by  her 
death,  she  was  taken  into  this  gentlewoman’s 
family,  where  she  now  lived,  though  much  more 
like  a friend  or  a companion,  than  like  a ser- 
vant. 

‘ I went  home  full  of  this  strange  adventure ; 
and  about  a w'eek  after  chancing  to  be  in  com- 
pany with  Mr.  T.  the  rejected  lover,  whom  I 
mentioned  in  the  beginning  of  my  letter,  I told 
him  the  whole  story  of  his  angel,  not  question- 
ing but  he  would  feel  on  this  occasion,  the  usual 
pleasures  of  a resenting  lover,  when  he  hears 
that  fortune  has  avenged  him  of  the  cruelty  of 
his  mistress.  As  I was  recounting  to  him  at 
large  these  several  particulars,  I observed  that 
he  covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  and  that  his 
breast  heaved  as  though  it  would  have  bursted, 
which  I took  at  first  to  have  been  a fit  of  laugh- 
ter ; but  upon  lifting  up  his  head,  I saw  his  eyes 
all  red  with  weeping.  He  forced  a smile  at  the 
end  of  my  story,  and  we  parted. 

‘ About  a fortnight  after,  I received  from  him 
the  following  letter. 


Na  160.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


215 


“ Dear  Sir, — I am  infinitely  obliged  to  you 
for  bringing  me  news  of  my  angel.  I have  since 
married  her,  and  think  the  low  circumstances 
she  was  reduced  to  a piece  of  good  luck  to  both 
of  us,  since  it  has  quite  removed  that  little  pride 
and  vanity,  which  was  the  only  part  of  her  cha- 
racter that  I disliked,  and  given  me  an  oppor- 
tunity  of  showing  her  the  constant  and  sincere 
affection  which  I professed  to  her  in  the  time  of 
her  prosperity.”  Yours,  R.  T.’ 

\rr 


No.  160.]  Monday^  September  14,  1713. 

Solventur  risu  tabulae,  tu  missus  abibis. 

Hor.  Lib.  2.  Sat.  i.  ver.  ult. 

IMITATED. 

My  lords  the  judges  laugh,  and  you’re  dismiss’d. 

Pope. 

From  writing  the  history  of  lions,  I lately 
went  off  to  that  of  ants  ; but  to  my  great  sur- 
prise, I find  that  some  of  my  good  readers  have 
taken  this  last  to  be  a work  of  invention,  which 
was  only  a plain  narrative  of  matter  of  fact. 
They  will  several  of  them  have  it  that  my  last 
Thur.sday  and  Friday’s  papers  are  full  of  con- 
cealed satire,  and  that  I have  attacked  people 
in  the  shape  of  pismires,  whom  I durst  not  med- 
dle with  in  the  shape  of  men.  I must  confess 
that  I write  with  fear  and  trembling,  ever  since 
that  ingenious  person  the  Examiner,  in  his  little 
pamphlet,  which  was  to  make  way  for  one  of 
his  following  papers,  found  out  treason  in  the 
word  expect. 

But  1 shall  for  the  future  leave  my  friend  to 
manage  the  controversy  in  a separate  work,  be- 
ing unwilling  to  fill  with  disputes  a paper  which 
was  undertaken  purely  out  of  good  will  to  my 
countrymen.  I must  therefore  declare  that 
those  jealousies  and  suspicions,  which  have 
been  raised  in  some  weak  minds,  by  means  of 
the  two  above-mentioned  discourses  concerning 
ants  or  pismires,  are  altogether  groundless. 
There  is  not  an  emmet  in  all  that  whole  narra- 
tive who  is  either  whig  or  tory ; and  I could 
heartily  wish,  that  the  individuals  of  all  parties 
among  us,  had  the  good  of  their  country  at 
heart,  and  endeavoured  to  advance  it  by  the 
same  spirit  of  frugality,  justice,  and  mutual  be- 
nevolence, as  are  visibly  exercised  by  members 
of  those  little  commonwealths. 

After  this  short  preface,  I shall  lay  before  my 
reader  a letter  or  two  which  occasioned  it. 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — I have  laid  a wager  with  a 
friend  of  mine  about  the  pigeons  that  used  to 
peck  up  the  corn  which  belonged  to  the  ants. 
I say  that  by  these  pigeons  you  meant  the  Pa- 
latines. He  will  needs  have  it  that  they  were 
the  Dutch.  We  both  agree  that  the  papers  upon 
the  strings  which  frighted  them  away  were 
pamphlets.  Examiners,  and  the  like.  We  beg 
you  will  satisfy  us  in  this  particular,  because 
the  wager  is  very  considerable,  and  you  will 
much  oblige  two  of  your 

‘DAILY  READERS.’ 

‘Old  Iron, — Why  so  rusty?  will  you  never 
/eave  your  innuendoes  ? Do  you  think  it  hard 


to  find  out  who  is  the  tulip  in  your  last  Thurs- 
day’s paper?  Or  can  you  imagine  that  three 
nests  of  ants  is  such  a disguise,  that  the  plainest 
reader  cannot  see  three  kingdoms  through  it  ? 
The  blowing  up  of  a neighbouring  settlement, 
where  there  was  a race  of  poor  beggarly  ants, 
under  a worse  form  of  government,  is  not  so 
difficult  to  be  explained  as  you  imagine.  Dun- 
kirk is  not  yet  demolished.  Your  ants  are  ene- 
mies to  rain,  are  they ! old  Birmingham  : no 
more  of  your  ants,  if  you  dont  intend  to  stir  up 
a nest  of  hornets.  WILL  WASP.’ 

‘ Dear  Guardian, — Calling  in  yesterday  at 
a coffee-house  in  the  city,  I saw  a very  short, 
corpulent,  angry  man  reading  your  paper  about 
the  ants.  I observed  that  he  reddened  and 
swelled  over  every  sentence  of  it.  After  having 
perused  it  throughout,  he  laid  it  down  upon  the 
table,  called  the  woman  of  the  coffee-house  to 
him,  and  asked  her  in  a magisterial  voice,  if  she 
knew  what  she  did  in  taking  in  such  papers ! The 
woman  was  in  such  a confusion,  that  I thought 
it  a piece  of  charity  to  interpose  in  her  behalf, 
and  asked  him  whether  he  had  found  any  thing 
in  it  of  dangerous  import?  “Sir,”  said  he, 
“ it  is  a republican  paper  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  and  if  the  author  had  his  deserts” — He 
here  grew  so  exceeding  choleric  and  fierce,  that 
he  could  not  proceed  ; till  after  having  recovered 
himself,  he  laid  his  finger  upon  the  following 
sentence,  and  read  it  with  a very  stern  voice — 
“ Though  ants  are  very  knowing,  I do  not  take 
them  to  be  conjurors  : and  therefore  they  could 
not  guess  that  I had  put  some  corn  in  that  room. 
I perceived  for  several  days  that  they  were  very 
much  perplexed,  and  went  a great  way  to  fetch 
their  provisions.  I was  not  willing  for  some 
time  to  make  them  more  easy  : for  I had  a mind 
to  know  whether  they  would  at  last  find  out  the 
treasure,  and  see  it  at  a great  distance,  and 
whether  smelling  enabled  them  to  know  what 
is  good  for  their  nourishment.”  Then  throwing 
the  paper  upon  the  table — “ Sir,”  says  he,  “ these 
things  are  not  to  be  suffered — I would  engage 
out  of  this  sentence  to  draw  up  an  indictment 
that” — He  here  lost  his  voice  a second  time  in 
the  extremity  of  his  rage  ; and  the  whole  com- 
pany, who  were  all  of  them  tories,  bursting  out 
into  a sudden  laugh,  he  threw  down  his  penny 
in  great  wrath,  and  retired  with  a most  formi- 
dable frown. 

‘ This,  sir,  I thought  fit  to  acquaint  you  with, 
that  you  may  make  what  use  of  it  you  please. 
I only  wish  that  you  would  sometimes  diversify 
your  papers  with  many  other  pieces  of  natural 
history,  whether  of  insects  or  animals  ; this  be- 
ing a subject  which  the  most  common  reader  is 
capable  of  understanding,  and  which  is  very  di- 
verting in  its  nature;  besides  that,  it  highly  re- 
dounds to  the  praise  of  that  Being  who  has  in- 
spired the  several  parts  of  the  sensitive  world 
with  such  wonderful  and  different  kinds  of  in- 
stinct as  enable  them  to  provide  for  themselves, 
and  preserve  their  species  in  that  state  of  exist- 
ence wherein  they  are  placed.  There  is  no 
party  concerned  in  speculations  of  this  nature; 
which,  instead  of  inflaming  those  unnatural 
heats  that  prevail  among  us,  and  take  up  most 
of  our  thoughts,,  may  divert  our  minds  to  sub- 


21fi 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


jects  that  are  useful,  and  suited  to  reasonable 
creatures.  Dissertations  of  this  kind  are  the 
more  proper  for  your  purpose,  as  they  do  not 
require  any  depth  of  mathematics,  or  any  pre- 
vious science  to  qualify  the  reader  for  the  under- 
standing- of  them.  To  this  I might  add,  that  it 
is  a shame  for  men  to  be  ignorant  of  these  worlds 
of  wonders  which  are  transacted  in  the  midst 
of  them,  and  not  be  acquainted  with  those  ob- 
jects which  are  every  where  before  their  eyes. 
To  which  I might  further  add,  that  several  are 
of  opinion,  there  is  no  other  use  in  many  of 
these  creatures  than  to  furnish  matter  of  con- 
templation and  wonder  to  those  inhabitants  of 
the  earth,  who  are  its  only  creatures  that  are 
capable  of  it.  I am,  sir,  your  constant  reader, 
and  humble  servant.’ 

After  having  presented  my  reader  with  this 
set  of  letters,  which  are  all  upon  the  same  sub- 
ject, I shall  here  insert  one  that  has  no  relation 
to  it.  But  it  has  always  been  my  maxim,  never 
to  refuse  going  out  of  my  way  to  do  any  honest 
man  a service,  especially  when  I have  an  in- 
terest in  it  myself. 

‘ Most  venerable  Nestor, — As  you  are  a 
person  that  very  eminently  distinguish  yourself 
in  the  promotion  of  the  public  good,  I desire 
your  friendship  in  signifying  to  the  town  what 
concerns  the  greatest  good  of  life,  health.  I do 
assure  you,  sir,  there  is  in  a vault  under  the 
Exchange  in  Cornhill,  over-against  Pope’s-head- 
alley,  a parcel  of  French  wines,  full  of  the  seeds 
of  good  humour,  cheerfulness,  and  friendly 
mirth.  I have  been  told,  the  learned  of  our  na- 
tion agree,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  bribery  in 
liquors  ; therefore  I shall  presume  to  send  you 
of  it,  lest  you  should  think  it  inconsistent  with 
integrity  to  recommend  what  you  do  not  under- 
stand by  experience.  In  the  mean  time  please 
to  insert  this,  that  every  man  may  judge  for 
himself.  1 am,  sir,  «fec.’  O’ 


No.  161.]  Tuesday,  September  15,  1713. 

— Incoctum  generoso  pectus  honesto. 

Pers.  Sat.  ii.  74. 

A genuine  virtue  of  a vigorous  kind, 

Pure  in  the  last  recesses  of  the  mind.  Dryden. 

Every  principle  that  is  a motive  to  good  ac- 
tions ought  to  be  encouraged,  since  men  are  of 
so  different  a make,  that  the  same  principle 
does  not  work  equally  upon  all  minds.  What 
some  men  are  prompted  to  by  conscience,  duty, 
or  religion,  which  are  only  different  names  for 
the  same  thing,  others  are  prompted  to  by  ho- 
nour. 

7'he  sense  of  honour  is  of  so  fine  and  delicate 
a nature,  that  it  is  only  to  be  met  with  in  minds 
which  are  naturally  noble,  or  in  such  as  have 
been  cultivated  by  great  examples,  or  a refined 
education.  This  paper,  therefore,  is  chiefly  de- 
signed for  those  who,  by  means  of  any  of  these 
advantages  are,  or  ought  to  be  actuated  by  this 
glorious  principle. 

But  as  nothing  is  more  pernicious  than  a 
principle  of  action,  when  it  is  misunderstood,  I 


[No.  161. 

shall  consider  honour  with  respect  to  three  sorts 
of  men  : First  of  all,  with  regard  to  those  who 
have  a right  notion  of  it : Secondly,  with  regard 
to  those  who  have  a mistaken  notion  of  it : an^ 
Thirdly,  with  regard  to  those  who  treat  it  as 
chimerical,  and  turn  it  into  ridicule. 

In  the  first  place,  true  honour,  though  it  be  a 
different  principle  from  religion,  is  that  which 
produces  the  same  effects.  The  lines  of  action, 
though  drawn  from  different  parts,  terminate  in 
the  same  point.  Religion  embraces  virtue,  as 
it  is  enjoined  by  the  laws  of  God ; honour,  as  it 
is  graceful  and  ornamental  to  human  nature. 
The  religious  man  fears,  the  man  of  honour 
scorns  to  do  an  ill  action.  The  latter  considers 
vice  as  something  that  is  beneath  him,  the  other 
as  something  that  is  offensive  to  the  Divine 
Being.  The  one,  as  what  is  unbecoming  ; the 
other,  as  what  is  forbidden.  Thus  Seneca  speaks 
in  the  natural  and  genuine  language  of  a man 
of  honour,  when  he  declares,  that  were  there  no 
God  to  see  or  punish  vice,  he  would  not  commit 
it,  because  it  is  of  so  mean,  so  base,  and  so  vile 
a nature. 

I shall  conclude  this  head  with  the  description 
of  honour  in  the  part  of  young  Juba : 

“ Honour's  a sacred  tie,  the  law  of  kings, 

The  notie  mind’s  distinguishing  perfection. 

That  aids  and  strengthens  virtue  where  it  meets  her, 

And  imitates  her  actions  where  she  is  not. 

It  ought  not  to  be  sported  with.’ Cato. 

In  the  second  place,  we  are  to  consider  those 
who  have  mistaken  notions  of  honour.  And 
these  are  such  as  establish  any  thing  to  them- 
selves for  a point  of  honour,  which  is  contrary 
either  to  the  laws  of  God,  or  of  their  country  ; 
who  think  it  more  honourable  to  revenge  than 
to  forgive  an  injury ; who  make  no  scruple  of 
telling  a lie,  but  would  put  any  man  to  death 
that  accuses  them  of  it ; who  are  more  careful 
to  guard  their  reputation  by  their  courage,  than 
by  their  virtue.  True  fortitude  is  indeed  so  be- 
coming in  human  nature,  that  he  w'ho  w’ants  it 
scarce  deserves  the  name  of  a man  ; but  we 
find  several  w’ho  so  much  abuse  this  notion,  that 
they  place  the  w’hole  idea  of  honour  in  a kind 
of  brutal  courage ; b}'^  which  means  we  have 
had  many  among  us  who  have  called  themselves 
men  of  honour,  that  would  have  been  a disgrace 
to  a gibbet.  In  a word,  the  man  who  sacrifices 
any  duty  of  a reasonable  creature  to  a prevail- 
ing mode  or  fashion,  who  looks  upon  any  thing 
as  honourable  that  is  displeasing  to  his  Maker, 
or  destructive  to  society,  who  thinks  himself 
obliged  by  this  principle  to  the  practice  of  some 
virtues  and  not  of  others,  is  by  no  means  to  be 
reckoned  among  true  men  of  honour. 

Tiraogenes  w’as  a lively  instance  of  one  ac- 
tuated  by  false  honour.  Timogenes  would 
smile  at  a man’s  jest  w’ho  ridiculed  his  Maker, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  run  a man  through  the 
body  that  spoke  ill  of  his  friend.  Timogenes 
would  have  scorned  to  have  betrayed  a secret 
that  was  intrusted  with  him,  though  the  fate  of 
his  country  depended  upon  the  discover)’^  of  if. 
Timogenes  took  away  the  life  of  a young  tellow 
in  a duel,  for  having  spoken  ill  of  Belinda,  a 
lady  whom  he  himself  had  seduced  in  her  youth, 
and  betrayed  into  want  and  ignominy.  To  close 
his  character,  Timogenes,  after  having  ruined 


No.  162.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


217 


several  poor  tradesmen’s  families  who  had  trust- 
ed  him,  sold  his  estate  to  satisfy  his  creditors  ; 
but,  like  a man  of  honour,  disposed  of  all  the 
money  he  could  make  of  it,  in  the  paying  off 
his  play  debts,  or  to  speak  in  his  own  language, 
his  debts  of  honour. 

In  tlje  third  place,  we  are  to  consider  those 
persons,  who  treat  this  principle  as  chimerical, 
and  turn  it  into  ridicule.  Men  who  are  pro- 
fessedly of  no  honour,  are  of  a more  profligate 
and  abandoned  nature  than  even  those  who  are 
actuated  by  false  notions  of  it,  as  there  is  more 
hopes  of  a heretic  than  of  an  atheist.  These 
sons  of  infamy  consider  honour  with  old  Syphax, 
in  the  play  before-mentioned,  as  a fine  imagi- 
nary notion  that  leads  astray  young  inexperi- 
enced men,  and  draws  them  into  real  mischiefs, 
while  they  are  engaged  in  the  pursuits  of  a sha- 
dow. These  are  generally  persons  who,  in 
Shakspeare’s  phrase,  ‘ are  worn  and  hackneyed 
in  the  ways  of  men;’  whose  imaginations  are 
grown  callous,  and  have  lost  all  those  delicate 
sentiments  which  are  natural  to  minds  that  are 
innocent  and  undepraved.  Such  old  battered 
miscreants  ridicule  every  thing  as  romantic 
that  comes  in ^ competition  with  their  present 
interest,  and  treat  those  persons  as  visionaries, 
who  dare  stand  up  in  a corrupt  age  for  what  has 
not  its  immediate  reward  joined  to  it.  The  ta- 
lents, interest,  or  experience  of  such  men,  make 
them  very  often  useful  in  all  parties,  and  at  all 
limes.  But  whatever  wealth  and  dignities  they 
may  arrive  at,  they  ought  to  consider,  that  every 
one  stands  as  a blot  in  the  annals  of  his  coun- 
try who  arrives  at  the  temple  of  honour  by  any 
other  way  than  through  that  of  virtue.  iCr’ 


No.  162.]  Wednesday,  September  16, 1713. 

Proprium  hoc  esse  pnidentiaj,  oonciliare  sibi  animos 
hominum,  et  ad  usus  suos  adjungere.  Cicero. 

The  art  of  prudence  lies  in  gaining  the  esteem  of  the 
world,  and  turning  it  to  a man’s  own  advantage. 

I WAS  the  other  day  in  company  at  my  lady 
Lizard’s,  when  there  came  in  among  us  their 
cousin  Tom,  who  is  one  of  those  country  squires 
that  set  up  for  plain  honest  gentlemen  who 
speak  their  minds.  Tom  is,  in  short,  a lively, 
impudent  clown,  and  has  wit  enough  to  have 
made  him  a pleasant  companion,  had  it  been 
polished  and  rectified  by  good  manners.  Tom 
had  not  been  a quarter  of  an  hour  with  us  be- 
fore he  set  every  one  in  the  company  a blushing, 
by  some  blunt  question,  or  unlucky  observation. 
He  asked  the  Sparkler  if  her  wit  had  yet  got 
her  a husband ; and  told  her  eldest  sister  she 
looked  a little  wan  under  the  eyes,  and  that  it 
was  time  for  her  to  look  about  her,  if  she  did 
not  design  to  lead  apes  in  the  other  world.  The 
good  lady  Lizard,  who  suffers  more  than  her 
daughters  on  such  an  occasion,  desired  her 
cousin  Thomas  with  a smile,  not  to  be  so  severe 
on  his  relations ; to  which  the  booby  replied, 
with  a rude  country  laugh,  ‘ If  I be  not  mis- 
taken, aunt,  you  were  a mother  at  fifteen,  and 
why  do  you  expect  that  your  daughters  should 
be  maids  till  five-and-twenty  !’  I endeavoured 
to  divert  the  discourse  ; when,  without  taking 
2 E 


notice  of  what  I said,  ‘ Mr.  Ironside,’  says  he, 
‘you  fill  my  cousins’  heads  with  your  fine  no- 
tions, as  you  call  them  ; can  you  teach  them  to 
make  a pudding  V I must  confess  he  put  me 
out  of  countenance  with  his  rustic  raillery,  so 
that  1 made  some  excuse,  and  left  the  room. 

This  fellow’s  behaviour  made  me  reflect  on 
the  usefulness  of  complaisance,  to  make  all  con- 
versation agreeable.  This,  though  in  itself  it 
be  scarce  reckoned  in  the  number  of  moral  vir- 
tues, is  that  which  gives  a lustre  to  every  talent 
a man  can  be  possessed  of.  It  was  Plato’s  advice 
to  an  unpolished  writer,  that  he  should  sacrifice 
to  the  Graces.  In  the  same  manner  I would 
advise  every  man  of  learning,  who  would  not 
appear  in  the  world  a mere  scholar  or  philoso- 
pher, to  make  himself  master  of  the  social  vir- 
tue which  I have  here  mentioned. 

Complaisance  renders  a superior  amiable,  an 
equal  agreeable,  and  an  inferior  acceptable.  It 
smooths  distinction,  sweetens  conversation,  and 
makes  every  one  in  the  company  pleased  with 
himself.  It  produces  good  nature  and  mutual 
benevolence,  encourages  the  timorous,  sooths 
the  turbulent,  humanizes  the  fierce,  and  distin- 
guishes a society  of  civilized  persons  from  a 
confusion  of  savages.  In  a word,  complaisance 
is  a virtue  that  blends  all  orders  of  men  together 
in  a friendly  intercourse  of  words  and  actions, 
and  is  suited  to  that  equality  in  human  nature 
which  every  one  ought  to  consider,  so  far  as  is 
consistent  with  the  order  and  economy  of  the 
world. 

If  we  could  look  into  the  secret  anguish  and 
affliction  of  every  man’s  heart,  we  should  often 
find  that  more  of  it  arises  from  little  imaginary 
distresses,  such  as  checks,  frowns,  conti-adic- 
tions,  expressions  of  contempt,  and  (what  Shak- 
speare  reckons  among  other  evils  under  the  sun) 

‘ The  proud  man’s  contumely, 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes,’ 

than  from  the  more  real  pains  and  calamities 
of  life.  The  only  method  to  remove  these  ima- 
ginary distresses  as  much  as  possible  out  of 
human  life,  would  be  the  universal  praetice  of 
such  an  ingenuous  complaisance  as  I have  been 
here  describing,  which,  as  it  is  a virtue,  may 
be  defined  to  be,  ‘ a constant  endeavour  to  please 
those  whom  we  converse  with,  so  far  as  we  may 
do  it  innocently.’  I shall  here  add,  that  I know 
nothing  so  effectual  to  raise  a man’s  fortune  as 
complaisance  ; which  recommends  more  to  the 
favour  of  the  great,  than  wit,  knowledge,  or  any 
other  talent  whatsoever.  I find  this  consider- 
ation very  prettily  illustrated  by  a little  wild 
Arabian  tale,  which  I shall  here  abridge,  for  the 
sake  of  my  reader,  after  having  again  warned 
him,  that  I do  not  recommend  to  him  such  an 
impertinent  or  vicious  complaisance  as  is  not 
consistent  with  honour  and  integrity. 

‘ Schacabac  being  reduced  to  great  poverty^ 
i and  having  eat  nothing  for  two  days  together, 
made  a visit  to  a noble  barmeeide  in  Persia, 
who  was  very  hospitable,  but  withal  a great  hu- 
mourist. The  barmeeide  was  sitting  at  his 
table  that  seemed  ready  covered  for  an  enter- 
tainment. Upon  hearing  Schacabac’s  complaint, 
he  desired  him  to  sit  down  and  fall  on.  He 
then  gave  him  an  empty  plate,  and  asked  him 


2J8 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  163 


how  he  liked  his  rice  soup.  Schacabac,  who 
was  a man  of  wit,  and  resolved  to  comply  with 
the  barmecide  in  all  his  humours,  told  him  it 
was  admirable,  and  at  the  same  time,  ixi  imita- 
tion of  the  other,  lifted  up  the  empty  spoon  to 
his  mouth  with  great  pleasure.  The  barmecide 
then  asked  him  if  he  ever  saw  whiter  bread  ? 
Schacabac,  who  saw  neither  bread  nor  meat, 
“ if  I did  not  like  it,  you  may  be  sure,”  says  he, 
“I  should  not  eat  so  heartily  of  it.”  “You 
oblige  me  mightily,”  replied  the  barmecide, 
“ pray,  let  me  help  you  to  this  leg  of  a goose.” 
Schacabac  reached  out  his  plate,  and  received 
nothing  on  it  with  great  cheerfulness. 

As  he  was  eating  very  heartily  on  this  ima- 
ginary goose,  and  crying  up  the  sauce  to  the 
skies,  the  barmecide  desired  him  to  keep  a cor- 
ner of  his  stomach  for  a roasted  lamb  fed  with 
pistachio  nuts,  and  after  having  called  for  it,  as 
though  it  had  really  been  served  up,  “ here  is  a 
dish,”  says  he,  “ that  you  will  see  at  nobody’s 
table  but  my  own.”  Schacabac  was  wonderfully 
delighted  with  the  taste  of  it,  “ which  is  like 
nothing,”  says  he,  “ I over  eat  before.”  Several 
other  nice  dishes  \vere  served  up  in  idea,  which 
both  of  them  commended,  and  feasted  on  after 
the  same  manner.  This  was  followed  by  an  in- 
visible dessert,  no  part  of  which  delighted  Scha- 
cabac so  much  as  a certain  lozenge,  which  the 
barmecide  told  him  was  a sweet-meat  of  his  own 
invention.  Schacabac  at  length  being  courte- 
ously reproached  by  the  barmecide,  that  he  had 
no  stomach,  and  that  he  eat  nothing,  and  at  the 
same  time  being  tired  with  moving  his  jaws  up 
and  down  to  no  purpose,  desired  to  be  excused, 
for  that  really  he  was  so  full  he  could  not  eat  a 
bit  more.  “Come  then,”  says  the  barmecide, 

“ the  cloth  shall  be  removed,  and  you  shall  taste 
of  my  wines,  which  I may  say,  without  vanity, 
are  the  best  in  Persia.”  He  then  filled  both  their 
glasses  out  of  an  empty  decanter.  Schacabac 
would  have  excused  himself  from  drinking  so 
much  at  once,  because  he  said  he  was  a little 
quarrelsome  in  his  liquor;  however,  being  prest 
to  it,  he  pretended  to  take  it  off,  having  before- 
hand praised  the  colour,  and  afterwards  the  fla- 
vour. Being  plied  with  two  or  three  other  ima- 
ginary bumpers  of  different  wines,  equally  deli- 
cious, and  a little  vexed  with  this  fantastic  treat, 
he  pretended  to  grow  flustered,  and  gave  the 
barmecide  a good  box  on  the  ear,  but  immedi- 
ately recovering  himself,  “Sir,”  says  he,  “ I beg 
ten  thousand  pardons,  but  1 told  you  before,  that 
it  was  my  misfortune  to  be  quarrelsome  in  my 
drink.”  The  barmecide  could  not  but  smile  at 
the  humour  of  his  guest,  and  instead  of  being 
angry  at  him,  “ I find,”  says  he,  “ thou  art  a 
complaisant  fellow,  and  deservest  to  be  enter- 
tained in  my  house.  Since  thou  canst  accom- 
modate thyself  to  my  humour,  we  w'ill  now  eat 
together  in  good  earnest.”  Upon  which,  calling 
for  his  supper,  the  rice  soup,  the  goose,  the  pis- 
tachio lamb,  the  several  other  nice  dishes,  with 
the  dessert,  the  lozenges,  and  all  the  variety  of 
Persian  wines,  were  served  up  successively,  one 
after  another  : and  Schacabac  was  feasted  in  re- 
ality with  those  very  things  which  he  had  be- 
fore been  entertained  with  in  imagination.’ 

ID- 


No.  163.]  Thursday^  September  17,  1713. 

miserum  est  aliena  vivere  quadra. 

Juv.  Sat.  V.  2. 

How  VTetched  he,  by  cruel  fortune  crost, 

Who  never  dines  but  at  another’s  cost. 

When  I am  disposed  to  give  myself  a day’s 
rest,  I order  the  lion  to  be  opened,  and  search 
into  that  magazine  of  intelligence  for  such  let- 
ters as  are  to  my  purpose.  The  first  I looked 
into  comes  to  me  from  one  who  is  chaplain  to 
a great  family.  He  treats  himself  in  the  begin- 
ning of  it,  after  such  a manner,  as  I am  per- 
suaded no  man  of  sense  would  treat  him.  Even 
the  lawyer  and  the  physician  to  a man  of  quali- 
ty, expect  to  be  used  like  gentlemen,  and  much 
more  may  any  one  of  so  superior  a profession. 
I am  by  no  means  for  encouraging  that  dispute, 
whether  the  chaplain  or  the  master  of  the  house 
be  the  better  man,  and  the  more  to  be  respected. 
The  two  learned  authors,  doctor  Hickes  and 
Mr.. Collier,  to  whom  I might  add  several  others, 
are  to  be  excused,  if  they  have  carried  the  point 
a little  too  high  in  favour  of  the  chaplain,  since 
in  so  corrupt  an  age  as  that  we  live  in,  the  po- 
pular opinion  runs  so  far  into  the  other  extreme. 
The  only  controversy,  between  the  patron  and 
the  chaplain,  ought  to  be,  which  should  promote 
the  good  designs  and  interests  of  each  other 
most ; and  for  my  own  part,  I think  it  is  the 
happiest  circumstance  in  a great  estate  or  title, 
that  it  qualifies  a man  for  choosing  out  of  such 
a learned  and  valuable  body  of  men  as  that  of 
the  English  clergy,  a friend,  a spiritual  guide, 
and  a companion.  The  letter  I have  received 
from  one  of  this  order,  is  as  follows  : 

‘ Mr.  Guardian, — I hope  you  will  not  only 
indulge  me  in  the  liberty  of  two  or  three  ques- 
tions, but  also  in  the  solution  of  them. 

‘ I have  had  the  honour  many  years  of  being 
chaplain  to  a noble  family,  and  of  being  ac- 
counted the  highest  servant  in  the  house,  either 
out  of  respect  to  my  cloth,  or  because  I lie  in 
the  uppermost  garret. 

‘ Whilst  my  old  lord  lived,  his  table  was  al- 
ways adorned  wnth  useful  learning  and  inno- 
cent mirth,  as  well  as  covered  with  plenty.  I 
was  not  looked  upon  as  a piece  of  furniture  fit 
only  to  sanctify  and  garnish  a feast,  but  treated 
as  a gentleman,  and  generally  desired  to  fill  up 
the  conversation  an  hour  after  I had  done  my 
duty.  But  now  my  young  lord  is  come  to  the 
estate,  I find  I am  looked  upon  as  a censor  mo- 
rum,  an  obstacle  to  mirth  and  talk,  and  suffered 
to  retire  constantly  wnth  “ Prosperity  to  the 
church”  in  my  mouth.  I declare  solemnly,  sir, 
that  I have  heard  nothing  from  all  the  fine  gen- 
tlemen w’ho  visit  us,  more  remarkable,  for  half 
a year,  than  that  one  young  lord  was  seven 
times  drunk  at  Genoa,  and  another  had  an  af- 
fair with  a famous  courtesan  at  Venice.  I have 
lately  taken  the  liberty  to  stay  three  or  four 
rounds  beyond  the  church,  to  see  w’hat  topics 
of  discourse  they  went  upon,  but  to  my  great 
surprise,  have  hardly  heard  a wmrd  all  the  time 
besides  the  toasts.  Then  they  all  stare  full  in 
my  face,  and  show  all  the  actions  of  uneasiness 


No.  164.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


219 


till  I am  gone.  Immediately  upon  my  depar- 
ture, to  use  tiie  words  in  an  old  comedy,  “ I find 
by  the  noise  they  make,  that  they  had  a mind 
to  be  private.”  1 am  at  a loss  to  imagine  what 
conversation  they  have  among  one  another, 
which  I may  not  be  present  at;  since  I love  in- 
nocent mirth  as  much  as  any  of  them,  and  am 
shocked  with  no  freedoms  whatsoever,  which 
are  consistent  with  Christianity.  I have,  with 
much  ado,  maintained  my  post  hitherto  at  the 
dessert,  and  every  day  eat  tart  in  the  face  of  my 
patron  ; but  how  long  I shall  be  invested  with 
this  privilege,  I do  not  know.  For  the  servants, 
who  do  not  see  me  supported  as  I was  in  my 
old  lord’s  time,  begin  to  brush  very  familiarly 
by  me,  and  thrust  aside  my  chair  when  they  set 
the  sweet-meats  on  tlie  table.  I have  been  born 
and  educated  a gentleman,  and  desire  you  will 
make  the  public  sensible,  that  the  Christian 
priesthood  was  never  thought,  in  any  age  or 
country,  to  debase  the  man  who  is  a member 
of  it.  Among  the  great  services  wliicli  your 
useful  papers  daily  do  to  religion,  this  perhaps 
will  not  bo  the  least,  and  will  lay  a very  great 
obligation  on  your  unknown  servant,  G.  W.’ 


‘ Venerable  Nestor, — I was  very  much 
pleased  with  your  paper  of  the  seventh  instant, 
in  which  you  recommend  the  study  of  useful 
knowledge  to  women  of  quality  or  fortune.  I 
have  since  that  met  with  a very  elegant  poem, 
written  by  the  famous  sir  Thomas  More.  It  is 
inscribed  to  a friend  of  his,  who  was  then  seek- 
ing  out  a wife  ; he  advises  him  on  that  occasion 
to  overlook  wealth  and  beauty,  and  if  he  desires 
a happy  life,  to  join  himself  with  a woman  of 


virtue  and  knowledge, 
head  are  as  follow : 

“ Proculque  stulta  sit, 
Parvis  labellulis, 
Semper  loquacitas ; 
Proculque  rusticum 
Semper  silentium. 

Sit  ilia,  vel  modo 
Instructa  literis ; 

Vel  tails,  ut  modo 
Sit  apta  literis, 

Felix  quaevis  bene 
Priscis  ab  omnibus 
Possit  libellulis 
Vitam  beantia 
Haurire  dogmata : 
Armata  cum  quibus, 
Nec  ilia  prosperis 
Superba  turgeat ; 

Nec  ilia  turbidis 
Miscella  lugeat. 
Prostrata  casibus. 
Jucunda  sic  erit 
Semper  nec  unquam  erit 
Gravis,  molestave 
Vitae  comes  tuae ; 

Quae  docta  parvulos 
Docebit,  et  tuos 
Cum  lacte  literas 
Olim  nepotulos. 

Jam  te  juvaverit 
Viros  relinquere, 
Doctaeque  conjugis 


His  words  on  this  last 


Sinu  quiescere : 

Dum  grata  te  fovet ; 
Manuque  mobili 
Dum  plectra  personal ; 
Et  voce  (qua  nec  est, 
Progne,  sororcul® 

Tuae  suavior) 

Amoena  cantillat, 
Apollo  quae  velit 
Audire  carmina. 

Jam  te  juvaverit 
Sermone  blandulo 
Docto  tamen,  dies 
Noctesque  ducere ; 
Notare  verbula 
Mellita,  maximis 
Non  absque  gratiis, 

Ab  ore  melleo 
Semper  fluentia : 
Quibus  coerceat. 

Si  quando  te  level 
Inane  gaudium ; 

Quibus  levaverit. 

Si  quando  deprimat 
Te  moeror  anxius. 
Certabit  in  quibus 
Summa  eloquentia. 

Jam  cum  omnium  gravi 
Rerum  scienia. 

Talem  olim  ego  putera 
Et  vatis  Orphei 


Fuisse  conjugem  ; (Qua  nulla  charior 

Nec  unquam  ab  inferis  Unquam  fuit  patri, 
Curasset  improbo  Quo  nemo  doctior) 

Lahore  foeminam  Fuisse  TuIIiam  : 

Referre  rusticam  : Talisque,  quae  tulit 

Talemque  credimus  Gracchos  duos,  fuit; 

Nasonis  inclytam.  Quae  quos  tulit,  bonis 

Quae  vel  patrem  queat  Instruxit  artibus ; 

Square  carmine,  Nec  profuit  minus 

Fuisse  filiam:  Magistra,  quam  pa- 

Talemque  suspicor  rens.” 

‘ The  sense  of  this  elegant  description  is  as 
follows : 

“ May  you  meet  with  a wife  who  is  not  al- 
ways stupidly  silent,  not  always  prattling  non- 
sense  ! May  she  be  learned,  if  possible,  or  at 
least  capable  of  being  made  so!  A woman  thus 
accomplished  will  be  always  drawing  sentences 
and  maxims  of  virtue  out  of  the  best  authors  of 
antiquity.  She  will  be  herself  in  all  changes  of 
fortune,  neither  blown  up  in  prosperity,  nor 
broken  with  adversity.  You  will  find  in  her  an 
even,  cheerful,  good-humoured  friend,  and  an 
agreeable  companion  for  life.  She  will  infuse 
knowledge  into  your  children  with  their  milk, 
and  from  their  infancy  train  them  up  to  wisdom. 
Whatever  company  you  are  engaged  in  you  will 
long  to  be  at  home,  and  retire  with  delight  from 
the  society  of  men  into  the  bosom  of  one  who 
is  so  dear,  so  knowing,  and  so  amiable.  If  she 
touches  her  lute,  or  sings  to  it  any  of  her  own 
compositions,  her  voice  will  sooth  you  in  your 
solitudes,  and  sound  more  sweetly  in  your  ear 
than  that  of  the  nightingale.  You  will  waste 
with  pleasure  whole  days  and  nights  in  her 
conversation,  and  be  ever  finding  out  new  beau- 
ties in  her  discourse.  She  will  keep  your  mind 
in  perpetual  serenity,  restrain  its  mirth  from 
being  dissolute,  and  prevent  its  melancholy  from 
being  painful. 

“Such  was  doubtless  the  wife  of  Orpheus; 
for  who  would  have  undergone  what  he  did  to 
have  recovered  a foolish  bride  ? Such  was  the 
daughter  of  Ovid,  who  was  his  rival  in  poetry. 
Such  was  Tullia,  as  she  is  celebrated  by  the 
most  learned  and  the  most  fond  of  fathers.  And 
such  was  the  mother  of  the  two  Gracchi,  who  is 
no  less  famous  for  having  been  their  instructor, 
than  their  parent.”  ’ O’ 


No.  164.]  Friday,  September  18,  1713. 

simili  frondescit  virga  metallo. 

Virg.  iEn.  vi.  144. 

The  same  rich  metal  glitters  on  the  tree. 

An  eminent  prelate  of  our  church  observes, 
that  ‘ there  is  no  way  of  writing  so  proper  for 
the  refining  and  polishing  a language,  as  the 
translating  of  books  into  it,  if  he  who  under- 
takes it  has  a competent  skill  of  the  one  tongue, 
and  is  a master  of  the  other.  When  a man 
writes  his  own  thoughts,  the  heat  of  his  fancy, 
and  the  quickness  of  his  mind,  carry  him  so 
much  after  the  notions  themselves,  that  for  the 
most  part  he  is  too  warm  to  judge  of  the  apt- 
ness of  words,  and  the  justness  of  figures ; so 


220 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  165 


that  he  either  neglects  these  too  much,  or  over- 
does them  : but  when  a man  translates,  he  has 
none  of  these  heats  about  him ; and  therefore 
the  French  took  no  ill  method,  when  they  in- 
tended to  reform  and  beautify  their  language, 
in  setting  their  best  writers  on  work  to  trans- 
late the  Greek  and  Latin  authors  into  it.’  Thus 
far  this  learned  prelate. 

And  another,  lately  deceased,  tells  us,  that 
‘ the  way  of  leaving  verbal  translations,  and 
chiefly  regarding  the  sense  and  genius  of  the 
author,  was  scarce  heard  of  in  England  before 
this  present  age.’ 

As  for  the  difflculty  of  translating  well,  every 
one,  I believe,  must  allow  my  lord  Roscommon 
to  be  in  the  right,  when  he  says, 

‘ ’Tis  true,  composing  is  the  nobler  part, 

But  good  translation  is  no  easy  art : 

For  tlio’  materials  have  long  since  l)een  found, 

Yet  both  your  fancy,  and  your  hands  are  bound  ; 
And  by  improving  what  was  writ  before. 

Invention  labours  less,  but  judgment  more.’ 

Dryden  judiciously  remarks,  that  ‘ a translator 
is  to  make  his  author  appear  as  charming  as 
possibly  he  can,  provided  he  maintains  his  cha- 
racter, and  makes  him  not  unlike  himself.’  And 
a too  close  and  servile  imitation,  which  the  same 
poet  calls  ‘ treading  on  the  heels  of  an  author,’ 
is  deservedly  laughed  at  by  sir  John  Denham  ; 
‘ I conceive  it,’  says  he,  ‘ a vulgar  error  in  trans- 
lating poets,  to  affect  being  j^us  interpres.  Let 
that  care  be  with  them  who  deal  in  matters  of 
fact,  or  matters  of  faith  ; but  whosoever  aims  at 
it  in  poetry,  as  he  attempts  what  is  not  required, 
so  shall  he  never  perform  what  he  attempts  ; for 
it  is  not  his  business  alone  to  translate  language 
into  language,  but  poesy  into  poesy ; and  poesy 
is  of  so  subtle  a spirit,  that  in  pouring  out  of 
one  language  into  another,  it  will  all  evaporate, 
and  if  a new  spirit  is  not  added  in  the  transfu- 
sion, there  will  remain  nothing  but  a caput  mor- 
tuum,  there  being  certain  graces  and  happi- 
nesses peculiar  to  every  language,  which  give 
life  and  energy  to  the  words,  and  whosoever 
offers  at  verbal  translation,  shall  have  the  mis- 
fortune of  that  young  traveller,  who  lost  his  own 
language  abroad,  and  brought  homo  no  other 
instead  of  it.  For  the  grace  of  the  Latin  will 
be  lost  by  being  turned  into  English  words,  and 
the  grace  of  the  English  by  being  turned  into 
the  Latin  phrase.’ 

After  this  collection  of  authorities  out  of  some 
of  our  greatest  English  writers,  I shall  present 
my  reader  with  a translation,  in  which  the  au- 
thor has  conformed  himself  to  the  opinion  of 
these  great  men.  The  beauty  of  the  translation 
is  sufficient  to  recommend  it  to  the  public,  with- 
out acquainting  them  that  the  translator  is  Mr. 
Eusden  of  Cambridge  : who  obliged  them  in  the 
Guardian  of  August  the  sixth,  with  the  Court  of 
Venus  out  of  the  same  Latin  poet,  which  was 
highly  applauded  by  the  best  judges  in  perform- 
ances of  this  nature. 

The  Speech  of  Pluto  to  Proserpine,  from  the 
second  hook  of  her  Rape,  by  Claudian, 

‘ Cease,  cease,  fair  nymph,  to  lavish  precious  tears, 

And  discompose  your  soul  with  airy  fears. 

Look  on  Sicilia’s  glitt’ring  courts  with  scorn  ; 

A nobler  sceptre  shall  that  hand  adorn. 


Imperial  pomp  shall  sooth  a gen'rous  pride  ; 

The  bridegroom  never  will  disgrace  the  bride. 

If  you  above  terrestrial  thrones  aspire. 

From  heaven  I spring,  and  Saturn  was  my  sire. 

The  power  of  Pluto  stretches  all  around. 
Uncircumscribed  by  nature's  utmost  bound; 

Where  matter  mouldering  dies,  where  forms  decay 
Thro’  the  vast  trackle.ss  void  e.vtends  my  sway. 

Mark  not  with  mournful  eyes  the  fainting  light. 

Nor  tremble  at  this  interval  of  night; 

A fairer  scene  shall  open  to  your  view, 

An  earth  more  verdant,  and  a heaven  more  blue  ; 
Another  Phoebus  gilds  those  happy  skies. 

And  other  stars,  with  purer  flames,  arise. 

There  chaste  adorers  shall  their  praises  join. 

And  with  the  choicest  gifts  enrich  your  shrine. 

The  blissful  climes  no  change  of  ages  knew. 

The  golden  first  began,  and  still  is  new. 

That  golden  age  your  world  awhile  could  boast, 

But  here  it  flourished  and  was  never  lost. 

Perpetual  zephyrs  breathe  thro’  fragant  bowers  ; 

And  painted  meads  smile  with  unbidden  flowers ; 
Flowers  of  immortal  bloom  and  various  hue  ; 

No  rival  sweets  in  your  own  Enna  grew. 

In  the  recess  of  a cool  sylvan  glade 
A monarch  tree  projects  no  vulgar  shade. 

Encumbered  with  their  wealth,  the  branches  bend, 
And  golden  apples  to  their  reach  descend. 

Spare  not  the  fruit,  but  pluck  the  blooming  ore, 

The  yellow  harvest  will  increase  the  more. 

But  i too  long  on  trifling  themes  explain. 

Nor  speak  th’  unbounded  glories  of  your  reign. 

Whole  nature  owns  your  power : Whate’er  have  birth 
.\nd  live,  and  move  o'er  all  the  face  of  earth ; 

Or  in  old  Ocean’s  mighty  caverns  sleep. 

Or  sportive  roll  along  the  foamy  deep  ; 

Or  on  stiff  pinions  airy  journeys  take 
Or  cut  the  floating  stream  or  stagnant  lake: 

In  vain  they  labour  to  preserve  their  breath 
And  soon  fall  victims  to  your  subject.  Death. 
Unnumbered  triumphs  swift  to  you  he  brings, 

Hail ! goddess  of  all  sublunary  things! 

Empires,  that  sink  above,  here  rise  again. 

And  worlds  unpeopled  crowd  th’  Elysian  plain. 

The  rich,  the  poor,  the  monarch,  and  the  slave. 

Know  no  superior  honours  in  the  grave. 

Proud  tyrants  once,  and  laureled  chiefs  shall  come, 
And  kneel,  and  trembling  wait  from  you  their  doom. 
The  impious,  forc’d,  shall  then  their  crimes  disclose, 
And  see  past  pleasures  teem  with  future  woes  ; 
Deplore  in  darkness  your  impartial  sway. 

While  spotless  souls  enjoy  the  fields  of  day. 

When  ripe  for  second  birth,  the  dead  shall  stand. 

In  shivering  throngs  on  the  Lethean  strand, 

Tliat  shade  whom  you  approve  shall  first  be  brought 
To  quaff  oblivion  in  the  pleasing  draught. 

Whose  thread  of  life,  just  spun,  you  w'ould  renew, 
But  nod,  and  Clotho  shall  rewind  the  clue. 

Let  no  distrust  of  power  your  joys  abate, 

Speak  what  you  wish,  and  what  you  speak  is  fate. 

The  ravisher  thus  soothed  the  v/eeping  fair. 

And  checked  the  fury  of  his  steeds  with  care  : 
Possessed  of  beauty's  charms,  he  calmly  rode. 

And  love  first  softened  the  relentless  god.’ 


No.  165.]  Saturday,  September  19,  1713. 

Decipit  exemplar,  vitiis  imitabile 

Hor.  Lib.  1.  Ep.  xix.  17. 

Examples,  vice  can  imitate,  deceive.  Creech. 

It  is  a melancholy  thin^  to  see  a coxcomb 
at  the  head  of  a family.  He  scatters  infection 
through  the  whole  house.  His  wife  and  children 
have  always  their  eyes  upon  him;  if  they  have 
more  sense  than  himself,  they  are  out  of  coun- 
tenance for  him  ; if  less,  they  submit  their  un- 
derstandings to  him,  and  make  daily  improve- 
ments in  folly  and  impertinence.  I have  been 
very  often  secretly  concerned,  when  I have  seen 
a circle  of  pretty  children  cramped  in  their  na- 
tural parts,  and  prattling  even  below  thernselves, 
while  they  are  talking  after  a couple  of  silly  pa- 
rents. The  dulness  of  a father  often  extin- 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


221 


No.  166.] 


guishes  a genius  in  the  son,  or  gives  such  a 
wrong  cast  to  his  mind  as  it  is  hard  tor  him 
ever  to  wear  off.  In  short,  where  the  head  of  a 
family  is  weak,  you  hear  the  repetitions  of  his 
insipid  pleasantries,  shallow  conceits,  and  topi- 
cal points  of  mirth,  in  every  member  of  it.  His 
' table,  his  fire-side,  his  parties  of  diversion,  are 
all  of  them  so  many  standing  scenes  of  folly. 

This  is  one  reason  why  I would  the  more  re- 
commend the  improvements  of  the  mind  to  my 
j female  readers,  that  a family  may  have  a double 

! chance  for  it;  and  if  it  meets  with  weakness 

in  one  of  the  heads,  may  have  it  made  up  in 
the  other.  It  is  indeed  an  unhappy  circumstance 
in  a family,  where  the  wife  has  more  knowledge 
than  the  husband  ; but  it  is  better  it  should  be 
so,  than  that  there  should  be  no  knowledge  in 
the  whole  house.  It  is  highly  expedient  that  at 
least  one  of  the  persons,  who  sits  at  the  helm  of 
i affairs,  should  give  an  example  of  good  sense  to 
j!  those  who  are  under  them  in  these  little  domes- 
tic governments. 

5 If  folly  is  of  ill  consequence  in  the  head  of  a 
family,  vice  is  much  more  so,  as  it  is  of  a more 
pernicious  and  of  a more  contagious  nature, 
j When  the  master  is  a profligate,  the  rake  runs 
I through  the  house.  You  hear  the  sons  talking 
' loosely,  and  swearing  after  the  father,  and  see 
the  daughters  either  familiarized  to  his  dis- 
course, or  every  moment  blushing  for  him. 

' The  very  footman  will  be  a fine  gentleman  in 

j his  master’s  way.  He  improves  by  his  table- 
talk,  and  repeats  in  the  kitchen  what  he  learns 
in  the  parlour.  Invest  him  with  the  same  title 
and  ornaments,  and  you  would  scarce  know  him 
from  his  lord.  He  practises  the  same  oaths, 

[ the  same  ribaldry,  the  same  way  of  joking. 

It  is  therefore  of  very  great  concern  to  a 
family,  that  the  ruler  of  it  should  be  wise  and 
virtuous.  The  first  of  these  qualifications  does 
not  indeed  lie  within  his  powder ; but  though  a 
j man  cannot  abstain  from  being  weak,  he  may 

;!  from  being  vicious.  It  is  in  his  power  to  give 

a good  example  of  modesty,  of  temperance,  of 
I frugality,  of  religion,  and  of  all  other  virtues, 
which  though  the  greatest  ornaments  of  human 
nature,  may  be  put  in  practice  by  men  of  the 
! most  ordinary  capacities. 

As  wisdom  and  virtue  are  the  proper  qualifi- 
, cations  in  the  master  of  a house,  if  he  is  not 
1 accomplished  in  both  of  them,  it  is  much  better 
that  he  should  be  deficient  in  the  former  than 
I in  the  latter,  since  the  consequences  of  vice  are 
of  an  infinitely  more  dangerous  nature  than 
those  of  folly. 

When  I read  the  histories  that  are  left  us  of 
j Pythagoras,  I cannot  but  take  notice  of  the  ex- 
I traordinary  influence  which  that  great  philoso- 

pher, who  was  an  illustrious  pattern  of  virtue 
and  wisdom,  had  on  his  private  family.  This 
I excellent  man,  after  having  perfected  himself  in 
I the  learning  of  his  own  country,  travelled  into 

J all  the  known  parts  of  the  world,  on  purpose  to 

converse  with  the  most  learned  men  of  every 
j place ; by  which  means  he  gleaned  up  all  the 
I knowledge  of  the  age,  and  is  still  admired  by 
the  greatest  men  of  the  present  times  as  a pro- 
I of  science.  His  wife  Theano  wrote  several 

books,  and  after  his  death  taught  his  philosophy 
in  his  public  school,  which  was  frequented  by 


numberless  disciples  of  different  countries. 
There  are  several  excellent  sayings  recorded  of 
her.  I shall  only  mention  one,  because  it  does 
honour  to  her  virtue,  as  well  as  to  her  wisdom. 
Being  asked  by  some  of  her  sex,  in  how  long  a 
time  a woman  might  be  allowed  to  pray  to  the 
gods,  after  having  conversed  with  a man  ? ‘ If 
it  were  her  husband,’  says  she,  ‘ the  next  day  ; 
if  a stranger,  never.’  Pythagoras  had  by  this 
wife  two  sons  and  three  daughters.  His  two 
sons,  Telauges  and  Mnesarchus,  were  both  emi- 
nent philosophers,  and  were  joined  with  their 
mother  in  the  government  of  the  Pythagorean 
school.  Arignote  was  one  of  the  daughters, 
whose  writings  were  extant,  and  very  much  ad- 
mired, in  the  age  of  Porphyrins.  Damo  was 
another  of  his  daughters,  in  whose  hands  Pytha- 
goras left  his  works,  with  a prohibition  to  com- 
municate them  to  strangers,  which  she  observed 
to  the  hazard  of  her  life  ; and  though  she  was 
offered  a great  sum  for  them,  rather  chose  to 
live  in  poverty,  than  not  obey  the  commands  of 
her  beloved  father.  Myla  was  the  third  of  the 
daughters,  whose  works  and  history  were  very 
famous,  even  in  Lucian’s  time.  She  was  so  sig- 
nally virtuous,  that  for  her  unblemished  be- 
haviour in  her  virginity,  she  was  chosen  to  lead 
up  the  chorus  of  maids  in  a national  solemnity  ; 
and  for  her  exemplary  conduct  in  marriage,  was 
placed  at  the  head  of  all  the  matrons,  in  the  like 
public  ceremony.  The  memory  of  this  learned 
woman  was  so  precious  among  her  countrymen, 
that  her  house  was  after  her  death  converted 
into  a temple,  and  the  street  she  lived  in  called 
by  the  name  of  the  Musaeum.  Nor  must  I omit, 
whilst  I am  mentioning  this  great  philosopher, 
under  his  character  as  the  master  of  a family, 
that  two  of  his  servants  so  improved  themselves 
under  him,  that  they  were  instituted  into  his 
sect,  and  make  an  eminent  figure  in  the  list  of 
Pythagoreans.  The  names  of  these  two  servants 
were  Astraeus  and  Zamolxes.  This  single  ex- 
ample sufficiently  shows  us  both  the  influence 
and  the  merit  of  one  who  discharges  as  he  ought 
the  office  of  a good  master  of  a family  ; which, 
if  it  were  well  observed  in  every  house,  would 
quickly  put  an  end  to  that  universal  depravation 
of  manners,  by  which  the  present  age  is  so 
much  distinguished,  and  which  it  is  more  easy 
to  lament  than  to  reform.  [Hr 


No.  166.]  Monday,  September  21,  1713. 

aliquisque  malo  fuit  usus  in  illo. 

Ooid.  Met.  Lib.  ii.  332. 

Some  comfort  from  the  mighty  mischief  rose. 

Mdison. 

Charity  is  a virtue  of  the  heart,  and  not  of 
the  hands,  says  an  old  writer.  Gifts  and  alms 
are  the  expressions,  not  the  essence,  of  this  vir- 
tue. A man  may  bestow  great  sums  on  the 
poor  and  indigent  without  being  charitable,  and 
may  be  charitable  when  he  is  not  able  to  bestow 
any  thing.  Charity  is  therefore  a habit  of  good- 
will, or  benevolence  in  the  soul,  which  disposes 
us  to  the  love,  assistance,  and  relief  of  mankind, 
especially  of  those  who  stand  in  need  of  it.  The 
19* 


222 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


poor  man  who  has  this  excellent  frame  of  mind, 
is  no  less  entitled  to  the  reward  of  this  virtue 
than  the  man  who  founds  a colleg-e.  For  my 
own  part,  I am  charitable  to  an  extravagance 
this  way.  I never  saw  an  indigent  person  in 
my  life,  without  reaching  out  to  him  some  of 
this  imaginary  relief.  I cannot  but  sympathize 
with  every  one  I meet  that  is  in  affliction ; and 
if  my  abilities  were  equal  to  my  wishes,  there 
should  be  neither  pain  nor  poverty  in  the  world. 

To  give  my  reader  a right  notion  of  myself 
in  this  particular,  I shall  present  him  with  the 
secret  history  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
parts  of  my  life. 

I was  once  engaged  in  search  of  the  philoso- 
pher’s stone.  It  is  frequently  observed  of  men 
who  have  been  busied  in  this  pursuit,  that 
though  they  have  failed  in  their  principal  de- 
sign, they  have  however  made  such  discoveries 
in  their  way  to  it,  as  have  sufficiently  recom- 
pensed their  inquiries.  In  the  same  manner, 
though  I cannot  boast  of  my  success  in  that  af- 
fair, I do  not  repent  of  my  engaging  in  it,  be- 
cause it  produced  in  my  mind  such  an  habitual 
exercise  of  charity,  as  made  it  much  better  than 
perhaps  it  would  have  been,  had  I never  been 
lost  in  so  pleasing  a delusion. 

As  I did  not  question  but  I should  soon  have 
a new  Indies  in  my  possession,  I was  perpetual- 
ly taken  up  in  considering  how  to  turn  it  to  the 
benefit  of  mankind.  In  order  to  it  I employed 
a whole  day  in  walking  about  this  great  city,  to 
find  out  proper  places  for  the  erection  of  hospi- 
tals. I had  likewise  entertained  that  project, 
which  has  since  succeeded  in  another  place,  of 
building  churches  at  the  court  end  of  the  town, 
with  this  only  difference,  that  instead  of  fifty,  I 
intended  to  have  built  a hundred,  and  to  have 
eeen  them  all  finished  in  less  than  one  year. 

I had  with  great  pains  and  application  got 
together  a list  of  all  the  French  protestants  ; and 
by  the  best  accounts  I could  come  at,  had  cal- 
culated the  value  of  all  those  estates  and  effects 
which  every  one  of  them  had  left  in  his  own 
country  for  the  sake  of  his  religion,  being  fully 
determined  to  make  it  up  to  him,  and  return 
some  of  them  the  double  of  what  they  had  lost. 

As  I v.’as  one  day  in  my  laboratory,  my  ope- 
rator, who  was  to  fill  my  coffers  for  me,  and 
used  to  foot  it  from  the  other  end  of  the  town 
every  morning,  complained  of  a sprain  in  his 
leg,  that  he  had  met  with  over  against  Saint 
Clement’s  church.  This  so  affected  me,  that  as 
a standing  mark  of  my  gratitude  to  him,  and 
out  of  compassion  to  the  rest  of  my  fellow-citi- 
zens, I resolved  to  new  pave  every  street  within 
the  liberties,  and  entered  a memorandum  in  my 
pocket  book  accordingly.  About  the  same  time 
I entertained  some  thoughts  of  mending  all  the 
highways  on  this  side  the  Tweed,  and  of  mak- 
ing all  the  rivers  in  England  navigable. 

jBut  the  project  I had  most  at  heart  w'as  the 
settling  upon  every  man  in  Great  Britain  three 
pounds  a year  (in  which  sum  may  be  comprised, 
according  to  sir  William  Petty’s  observations,  : 
all  the  necessities  of  life,)  leaving  to  them  what- 
ever else  they  could  get  by  their  own  industry, 
to  lay  out  on  superfluities. 

I was  above  a week  debating  in  myself  what 
I should  do  in  the  matter  of  impropriations  ; but 


[No.  166. 

at  length  came  to  a resolution  to  buy  them  all 
up,  and.restore  them  to  the  church. 

As  I was  one  day  walking  near  St.  Paul’s,  I 
took  some  time  to  survey  that  structure,  and  not 
being  entirely  satisfied  with  it,  though  I could 
not  tell  w’hy,  I had  some  thoughts  of  pulling  it 
down,  and  building  it  up  anew  at  my  own  ex- 
pense. 

For  my  own  part,  as  I have  no  pride  in  me, 
I intended  to  take  up  with  a coach  and  six, 
half  a dozen  footmen,  and  live  like  a private 
gentleman. 

It  happened  about  this  time  that  public  mat- 
ters looked  very  gloomy,  taxes  came  hard,  the 
war  went  on  heavily,  people  complained  of  the 
great  burdens  that  were  laid  upon  them.  This 
made  me  resolve  to  set  aside  one  morning,  to 
consider  seriously  the  state  of  the  nation.  I 
was  the  more  ready  to  enter  on  it,  because  I 
was  obliged,  whether  I would  or  no,  to  sit  at 
home  in  my  morning  gown,  having  after  a most 
incredible  expense,  pawmed  a new  suit  of 
clothes,  and  a full-bottomed  wig,  for  a sum  of 
money,  wfflich  my  operator  assured  me  was  the 
last  he  should  w’ant  to  bring  all  our  matters  to 
bear.  After  having  considered  many  projects, 
I at  length  resolved  to  beat  the  common  enemy 
at  his  own  weapons,  and  laid  a scheme  which 
would  have  blown  him  up  in  a quarter  of  a year, 
had  things  succeeded  to  my  wishes.  As  I was 
in  this  golden  dream,  somebody  knocked  at  my 
door.  I opened  it,  and  found  it  was  a messen- 
ger that  brought  me  a letter  from  the  laboratory. 
The  fellow  looked  so  miserably  poor,  that  I w’as 
resolved  to  make  his  fortune  before  he  delivered 
his  message  : but  seeing  he  brought  a letter  from 
my  operator,  I concluded  I was  bound  to  it  in 
honour,  as  much  as  a prince  is  to  give  a reward 
to  one  that  brings  him  the  first  news  of  a vic- 
tory. I knew  this  was  the  long-expected  hour 
of  projection,  and  which  I had  waited  for  with 
great  impatience,  above  half  a year  before.  In 
short,  I broke  open  my  letter  in  a transport  of 
joy,  and  found  it  as  follows  : 

‘ Sir, — After  having  got  out  of  you  every 
thing  you  can  conveniently  spare,  I scorn  to 
trespass  upon  your  generous  nature,  and  there- 
fore must  ingenuously  confess  to  you,  that  I 
know  no  more  of  the  philosopher’s  stone  than 
you  do.  I shall  only  tell  you  for  your  comfort, 
that  I could  never  yet  bubble  a blockhead  out 
of  his  money.  They  must  be  men  of  wit  and 
parts  who  are  for  my  purpose.  This  made  me 
apply  myself  to  a person  of  your  wealth  and  in- 
genuity. How  I have  succeeded  you  yourself 
can  best  tell.  Your  humble  servant  to  com- 
mand,  THOMAS  WHITE. 

‘ I have  locked  up  the  laboratory,  and  laid  the 
key  under  the  door.’ 

I was  very  much  shocked  at  the  unworthy 
treatment  of  this  man,  and  not  a little  morti- 
fied at  my  disappointment,  though  not  so 
much  for  what  I myself,  as  what  the  public 
i suffered  by  it.  I think  however  I ought  to  let 
the  world  know  what  I designed  for  them,  and 
hope  that  such  of  my  readers  who  find  they  had 
a share  in  my  good  intentions,  will  accept  of 
the  will  for  the  deed.  ICT 


223 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


No.  167.] 

No.  167.]  Tuesday^  September  22, 1713. 

Fata  viam  invenient—  Firg.  ^En.  iii.  395. 

— Fate  the  way  will  find.  Dryden. 

The  following  story  is  lately  translated  out 
of  an  Arabian  manuscript,  which  I think  has 
very  much  the  turn  of  an  oriental  tale ; and  as 
it  has  never  before  been  printed,  I question  not 
but  it  will  be  highly  acceptable  to  my  reader. 

The  name  of  Helirn  is  still  famous  through 
all  the  eastern  parts  of  the  world.  He  is  called 
among  the  Persians,  even  to  this  day,  Helim, 
the  great  physician.  He  was  acquainted  with 
all  the  powers  of  simples,  understood  all  the  in- 
fluences  of  the  stars,  and  knew  the  secrets  that 
were  engraved  on  the  seal  of  Solomon  the  son 
of  David.  Helim  was  also  governor  of  the  Black 
Palace,  and  chief  of  the  physicians  to  Alnare- 
schin  the  great  king  of  Persia. 

Alnareschin  was  the  most  dreadful  tyrant 
that  ever  reigned  in  this  country.  He  was  of 
a fearful,  suspicious,  and  cruel  nature,  having 
put  to  death,  upon  very  slight  jealousies  and 
surmises,  five-and-thirty  of  his  queens,  and 
above  twenty  sons  whom  he  suspected  to  have 
conspired  against  his  life.  Being  at  length 
wearied  with  the  exercise  of  so  many  cruelties 
in  his  own  family,  and  fearing  lest  the  whole 
race  of  caliphs  should  be  entirely  lost,  he  one 
day  sent  for  Helim,  and  spoke  to  him  after  this 
manner : ‘ Helim,’  said  he,  ‘ I have  long  ad- 
mired thy  great  wisdom,  and  retired  way  of 
living.  I shall  now  show  thee  the  entire  confi- 
dence which  I place  in  thee.  I have  only  two 
sons  remaining,  who  are  as  yet  but  infants.  It 
is  my  design  that  thou  take  them  home  v;ith 
thee,  and  educate  them  as  thy  own.  Train 
them  up  in  the  humble,  unambitious  pursuits 
of  knowledge.  By  this  means  shall  the  line  of 
caliphs  be  preserved,  and  my  children  succeed 
after  me,  without  aspiring  to  my  throne  whilst 
I am  yet  alive.’  ‘ The  words  of  my  lord  the 
king  shall  be  obeyed,’  said  Helim  ; after  which 
he  bowed,  and  went  out  of  the  king’s  presence. 
He  then  received  the  children  into  his  own 
house,  and  from  that  time  bred  them  up  with 
him  in  the  studies  of  knowledge  and  virtue. 
The  young  princes  loved  and  respected  Helim 
as  their  father,  and  made  such  improvements 
under  him,  that  by  the  age  of  one-and-twenty 
they  were  instructed  in  all  the  learning  of  the 
East.  The  name  of  the  eldest  was  Ibrahim, 
and  of  the  youngest  Abdallah.  They  lived  to- 
gether in  such  a perfect  friendship,  that  to  this 
day  it  is  said  of  intimate  friends,  that  they  live 
together  like  Ibrahim  and  Abdallah.  Helim 
had  an  only  child,  who  was  a girl  of  a fine  soul, 
and  a most  beautiful  person.  Her  father  omitted 
nothing  in  her  education  that  might  make  her 
the  most  accomplished  woman  of  her  age.  As 
the  young  princes  were  in  a manner  excluded 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  they  frequently  con- 
versed with  this  lovely  virgin,  who  had  been 
brought  up  by  her  father  in  the  same  course  of 
kriowledge  and  of  virtue.  Abdallah,  whose 
mind  was  of  a softer  turn  than  that  of  his  bro- 
ther,  grew  by  degrees  so  enamoured  of  her  con- 
versation, that  he  did  not  think  he  lived  when 
he  was  not  in  company  with  his  beloved  Belso- 
ra,  for  that  was  the  name  of  the  maid.  The 


fame  of  her  beauty  was  so  great,  that  at  length 
it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  king,  who  pretending 
to  visit  the  young  princes  his  sons,  demanded 
of  Helim  the  sight  of  Belsora,  his  fair  daughter. 
The  king  was  so  inflamed  with  her  beauty  and 
behaviour,  that  he  sent  for  Helirrr  the  next 
morning,  and  told  him  it  was  now  his  design  to 
recompense  him  for  all  his  faithful  services  ; and 
that  in  order  to  it,  he  intended  to  make  his 
daughter  queen  of  Persia.  Helim,  who  knew 
very  well  the  fate  of  all  those  unhappy  women 
who  had  been  thus  advanced,  and  could  not  but 
be  privy  to  the  secret  love  which  Abdallah  bore 
his  daughter,  ‘ Far  be  it,’  says  he,  ‘ from  the 
king  of  Persia  to  contaminate  the  blood  of  the 
caliphs,  and  join  himself  in  marriage  with  the 
daughter  of  his  physician.  The  king,  however, 
was  so  impatient  for  such  a bride,  that  without 
hearing  any  excuses,  he  immediately  ordered 
Belsora  to  be  sent  for  into  his  presence,  keeping 
the  father  with  him,  in  order  to  make  her  sen- 
sible of  the  honour  which  he  designed  her.  Bel- 
sora, who  was  too  modest  and  humble  to  think 
her  beauty  had  made  such  an  impression  on  the 
king,  was  a few  moments  after  brought  into  his 
presence  as  he  had  commanded. 

She  appeared  in  the  king’s  eye  as  one  of  the 
virgins  of  Paradise.  But,  upon  hearing  the 
honour  which  he  intended  her,  she  fainted  away, 
and  fell  down  as  dead  at  his  feet.  Helim  wept, 
and  after  having  recovered  her  out  of  the  trance 
into  which  she  was  fallen,  represented  to  the 
king,  that  so  unexpected  an  honour  was  too 
great  to  have  been  communicated  to  her  all  at 
once  ; but  that,  if  he  pleased,  he  would  himself 
prepare  her  for  it.  The  king  bid  him  take  his 
own  way,  and  dismissed  him.  Balsora  was 
conveyed  again  to  her  father’s  house,  where  the 
thoughts  of  Abdallah  renewed  her  affliction 
every  moment ; insomuch,  that  at  length  she 
fell  into  a raging  fever.  The  king  was  informed 
of  her  condition  by  those  that  saw  her.  flelim 
finding  no  other  means  of  extricating  her  from 
the  difficulties  she  was  in,  after  having  com- 
posed her  mind,  and  made  lier  acquainted  with 
his  intentions,  gave  her  a certain  potion,  which 
he  knew  would  lay  her  asleep  for  many  hours  y 
and  afterwards,  in  all  the  seeming  distress  of  a 
disconsolate  father,  informed  the  king  she  was 
dead.  The  king,  who  never  let  any  sentiments 
of  humanity  come  too  near  his  heart,  did  not 
much  trouble  himself  about  the  matter  ; how- 
ever, for  his  own  reputation,  he  told  the  father, 
that  since  it  was  known  through  the  empire 
that  Balsora  died  at  a time  when  he  designed 
her  for  his  bride,  it  was  his  intention  that  she 
should  be  honoured  as  such  after  her  death,  that 
her  body  should  be  laid  in  the  Black  Palace, 
among  those  of  his  deceased  queens. 

In  the  mean  time,  Abdallah,  who  had  heard 
of  the  king’s  design,  was  not  less  afflicted  than 
his  beloved  Balsora.  As  for  the  several  cir- 
cumstances of  his  distress,  as  also  how  the  king 
was  informed  of  an  irrecoverable  distemper  into 
which  he  was  fallen,  they  are  to  be  found  at 
length  in  the  history  of  Helim.  It  shall  suffice 
to  acquaint  the  reader,  that  Helim,  some  days 
after  the  supposed  death  of  his  daughter,  gave 
the  prince  a potion  of  the  same  nature  with  that 
which  had  laid  asleep  Balsara. 


224 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


It  is  the  custom  among  the  Persians,  to  con- 
vey in  a private  manner  the  bodies  of  all  the 
royal  family,  a little  after  their  death,  into  the 
Black  Palace : which  is  the  repository  of  all 
who  are  descended  from  the  caliphs,  or  any  way 
allied  to  them.  The  chief  physician  is  always 
governor  of  the  Black  Palace  ; it  being  his 
office  to  embalm  and  preserve  the  holy  family 
after  they  are  dead,  as  well  as  to  take  care  of 
them  while  they  are  yet  living.  The  Black 
Palace  is  so  called  from  the  colour  of  the  build- 
ing, which  is  all  of  the  finest  polished  black 
marble.  There  are  always  burning  in  it  five 
thousand  everlasting  lamps.  It  has  also  a hun- 
dred folding  doors  of  ebony,  which  are  each  of 
them  w'atched  day  and  night  by  a hundred  ne- 
groes, who  are  to  take  care  that  nobody  enters 
besides  the  governor. 

Helim,  after  having  conveyed  the  body  of  his 
daughter  into  this  repository,  and,  at  the  ap- 
pointed time,  received  her  out  of  the  sleep  into 
which  she  was  fallen,  took  care  some  time  after 
to  bring  that  of  Abdallah  into  the  same  place. 
Balsora  watched  over  him  till  such  time  as  the 
dose  he  had  taken  lost  its  effect.  Abdallah  was 
not  acquainted  with  Helim’s  design  when  he 
gave  him  this  sleepy  potion.  It  is  impossible  to 
describe  the  surprise,  the  joy,  the  transport  he 
was  in  at  his  first  awaking.  He  fancied  him- 
self in  the  retirements  of  the  blest,  and  that  the 
spirit  of  his  dear  Balsora,  who  he  thought  was 
just  gone  before  him,  was  the  first  who  came  to 
congratulate  his  arrival.  She  soon  informed 
him  of  the  place  he  W’as  in,  which,  notwith- 
standing all  its  horrors,  appeared  to  him  more 
sweet  than  the  bower  of  Mahomet,  in  the  com- 
pany of  his  Balsora. 

Helim,  wffio  was  supposed  to  be  taken  up  in 
the  embalming  of  the  bodies,  visited  the  place 
very  frequently.  His  greatest  perplexity  was 
how  to  get  the  lovers  out  of  it,  the  gates  being 
watched  in  such  a manner  as  I have  before  re- 
lated. This  consideration  did  not  a little  dis- 
turb the  two  interred  lovers.  At  length  Helim 
bethought  himself,  that  the  first  day  of  the  full 
moon  of  the  month  Tizpa  was  near  at  hand. 
Now  it  is  a received  tradition  among  the  Per- 
cians,  that  the  souls  of  those  of  the  royal  family, 
who  are  in  a state  of  bliss,  do,  on  the  first  full 
moon  after  their  decease,  pass  through  the  east- 
ern gate  of  the  Black  Palace,  which  is  therefore 
called  the  gate  of  Paradise,  in  order  to  take 
their  flight  for  that  happy  place.  Helim,  there- 
fore, having  made  due  preparation  for  this  night, 
dressed  each  of  the  lovers  in  a robe  of  azure 
silk,  wrought  in  the  finest  looms  of  Persia,  with 
a long  train  of  linen  whiter  than  snow,  that 
floated  on  the  ground  behind  them.  Upon  Ab- 
dallah’s head  he  fixed  a wreath  of  the  greenest 
myrtle,  and  on  Balsora’s  a garland  of  the  fresh- 
est roses.  Their  garments  were  scented  with 
the  richest  perfumes  of  Arabia.  Having  thus 
prepared  every  tiling,  the  full  moon  was  no 
sooner  up,  and  shining  in  all  its  brightness,  but 
he  privately  opened  the  gate  of  Paradise,  and 
shut  it  after  the  same  manner  as  soon  as  they 
had  passed  through  it.  The  band  of  negroes 
who  were  posted  at  a little  distance  from 
the  gate,  seeing  two  such  beautiful  apparitions, 
that  showed  themselves  to  advantage  by  tlie 


[No.  167. 

light  of  the  full  moon,  and  being  ravished  with 
the  odour  that  flowed  from  their  garments,  im- 
mediately  concluded  them  to  be  the  gbosts  of 
the  two  persons  lately  deceased.  They  fell  upon 
their  faces  as  they  passed  through  the  midst  of 
them,  and  continued  prostrate  on  the  earth  un- 
til such  time  as  they  were  out  of  sight.  They 
reported  the  next  day  what  they  had  seen  ; but 
this  was  looked  upon  by  the  king  himself,  and 
most  others,  as  the  compliment  that  was  usually 
paid  to  any  of  the  deceased  of  his  family.  He- 
lim had  placed  two  of  his  own  mules  at  about  a 
mile’s  distance  from  the  Black  Temple,  on  the 
spot  which  they  had  agreed  upon  for  their  ren- 
dezvous. Here  he  met  them,  and  conducted 
them  to  one  of  his  own  houses,  which  was  si- 
tuated on  mount  Khacan.  The  air  of  this 
mountain  was  so  very  healthful,  that  Helim  had 
formerly  transported  the  king  thither,  in  order 
to  recover  him  out  of  a long  fit  of  sickness ; 
which  succeeded  so  well  that  the  king  made 
him  a present  of  the  whole  mountain,  with  a 
beautiful  house  and  gardens  that  were  on  the 
top  of  it.  In  this  retirement  lived  Abdallah  and 
Balsora.  They  were  both  so  fraught  with  all 
kinds  of  knowledge,  and  possessed  with  so  con- 
stant and  mutual  a passion  for  each  other,  that 
their  solitude  never  lay  heavy  on  them.  Abdal- 
lah applied  himself  to  those  arts  which  were 
agreeable  to  his  manner  of  living,  and  the  situ- 
ation of  the  place;  insomuch  that  in  a few  years 
he  converted  the  whole  mountain  into  a kind 
of  garden,  and  covered  every  part  of  it  with 
plantations  or  spots  of  flowers.  Helim  was  too 
good  a father  to  let  him  want  any  thing  that 
might  conduce  to  make  his  retirement  pleasant. 

In  about  ten  years  after  their  abode  in  this 
place,  the  old  king  died,  and  was  succeeded  by 
his  son  Ibrahim,  wffio,  upon  the  supposed  death 
of  his  brother,  had  been  called  to  court,  and  en- 
tertained there  as  heir  to  the  Persian  empire. 
Though  he  was  some  years  inconsolable  for  the 
death  of  his  brother,  Helim  durst  not  trust  him 
with  the  secret,  which  he  knew  would  have  fatal 
consequences,  should  it  by  any  means  come  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  old  king.  Ibrahim  was 
no  sooner  mounted  to  the  throne,  but  Helim 
sought  after  a proper  opportunity  of  making  a 
discovery  to  him,  which  he  knew  would  be  very 
agreeable  to  so  good-natured  and  generous  a 
prince.  It  so  happened,  that  before  Helim  found 
such  an  opportunity  as  he  desired,  the  new  king 
Ibrahim,  having  been  separated  from  his  com- 
pany in  a chase,  and  almost  fainting  with  heat 
and  thirst,  saw  himself  at  the  foot  of  mount 
Khacan.  He  immediately  ascended  the  hill, 
and  coming  to  Helim’s  house,  demanded  some 
refreshments.  Helim  was  very  luckily  there  at 
that  time  ; and  after  having  set  before  the  king 
the  choicest  of  wines  and  fruits,  finding  him 
wonderfully  pleased  with  so  seasonable  a treat, 
told  him  that  the  best  part  of  his  entertainment 
was  to  come.  Upon  which  he  opened  to  him  the 
whole  history  of  what  had  passed.  The  king  was 
at  once  astonished  and  transported  at  so  strange  a 
relation,  and  seeing  his  brother  enter  the  room 
with  Balsora  in  his  hand,  he  leaped  off  from  the 
sofa  on  which  he  sat,  and  cried  out,  ‘ It  is  he  ! 
it  is  mv  Abdallah  1’  Having  said  this,  he  fell 
upon  his  neck,  and  wept.  The  whole  company. 


No.  168.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


225 


for  some  time,  remained  silent  and  shedding 
tears  of  joy.  The  king  at  length,  having  kindly 
reproached  Helim  for  depriving  him  so  long  of 
such  a brother, embraced  Balsora  with  the  great- 
est tenderness,  and  told  her  that  she  should  now 
be  a queen  indeed,  for  that  he  would  immediately 
make  liis  brother  king  of  all  tlie  conquered  na- 
tions on  the  other  side  the  Tigris.  He  easily 
discovered  in  the  eyes  of  our  two  lovers,  that, 
instead  of  being  transported  with  the  offer,  they 
preferred  their  present  retirement  to  empire. 
At  their  request,  therefore,  he  changed  his  in- 
tentions, and  made  them  a present  of  all  the 
open  country  as  far  as  they  could  see  from  the 
top  of  mount  Khacan.  Abdallah  continuing  to 
extend  his  former  improvements,  beautified  this 
whole  prospect  with  groves  and  fountains,  gar- 
dens and  seats  of  pleasure,  until  it  became  the 
most  delicious  spot  of  ground  within  the  em- 
pire, and  is  therefore  called  the  garden  of  Per- 
sia. This  caliph,  Ibrahim,  after  a long  and 
happy  reign,  died  without  children,  and  was 
succeeded  by  Abdallah,  a son  of  Abdallah  and 
Balsora.  This  was  that  king  Abdallah,  who 
afterwards  fixed  the  imperial  residence  upon 
mount  Khacan,  which  continues  at  this  time  to 
be  the  favourite  palace  of  the  Persian  empire. 


No.  168.]  Wednesday^  September  23, 1713. 

loca  jam  recitata  revolvimus 

Hor.  Lib.  2.  Ep.  i.223. 

The  same  subjects  we  repeat. 

‘ Sm, — I observe  that  many  of  your  late  pa- 
pers have  represented  to  us  the  characters  of 
accomplished  women  ; but  among  all  of  them  I 
do  not  find  a quotation  which  I expected  to  have 
seen  in  your  works ; I mean  the  character  of 
the  mistress  of  a family  as  it  is  drawn  out  at 
length  in  the  book  of  Proverbs.  For  my  part, 
considering  it  only  as  a human  composition,  I 
do  not  think  that  there  is  any  character  in 
Theophrastus,  which  has  so  many  beautiful 
particulars  in  it,  and  which  is  drawn  with 
such  elegance  of  thought  and  phrase.  I won- 
der  that  it  is  not  written  in  letters  of  gold  in 
the  great  hall  of  every  country  gentleman. 

“ Who  can  find  a virtuous  woman  ? for  her 
price  is  far  above  rubies. 

“ The  heart  of  her  husband  doth  safely  trust 
in  her,  so  that  he  shall  have  no  need  of  spoil. 

“ She  will  do  him  good  and  not  evil  all  the 
days  of  her  life. 

“ She  seeketh  wool  and  flax,  and  worketh 
willingly  with  her  hands. 

“ She  is  like  the  merchants’  ships,  she  bring- 
eth  her  food  from  afar. 

“ She  riseth  also  while  it  is  yet  night,  and 
giveth  meat  to  her  household,  and  a portion  to 
her  maidens. 

“ She  considereth  a field,  and  buyeth  it  ; 
with  the  fruit  of  her  hands  she  planteth  a vine- 
yard. 

“ She  girdeth  her  loins  with  strength,  and 
strengtheneth  her  arms. 

“ She  perceiveth  that  her  merchandise  is 
good ; her  candle  goeth  not  out  by  night. 

2 F 


“ She  layeth  her  hands  to  the  spindle,  and 
her  hands  hold  the  distaff. 

“ She  stretcheth  out  her  hand  to  the  poor ; 
yea,  she  reacheth  forth  her  hands  to  the  needy. 

“ She  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for  her  house- 
hold, for  all  her  household  are  clothed  with 
scarlet. 

“ She  maketh  herself  coverings  of  tapestry, 
her  clothing  is  silk  and  purple. 

“ Her  husband  is  known  in  the  gates,  when 
he  sitteth  among  the  elders  of  the  land. 

“ She  maketh  fine  linen,  and  selleth  it,  and 
delivereth  girdles  unto  the  merchant. 

“ Strength  and  honour  are  her  clothing,  and 
she  shall  rejoice  in  time  to  come. 

“ She  openeth  her  mouth  with  wisdom,  and  in 
her  tongue  is  the  law  of  kindness. 

“ She  looketh  well  to  the  ways  of  her  house- 
hold, and  eateth  not  tlie  bread  of  idleness. 

“ Her  children  arise  up,  and  call  her  blessed  ; 
her  husband  also,  and  he  praiseth  her. 

“ Many  daughters  have  done  virtuously,  but 
thou  excellest  them  all. 

“ Favour  is  deceitful,  and  beauty  is  vain,  but 
a woman  that  feareth  the  Lord  she  shall  be 
praised. 

“ Give  her  of  the  fruit  of  her  hands,  and  let 
her  own  works  praise  her  in  the  gates.” 

‘ Your  humble  servant.’ 

‘ Sir, — I ventured  to  your  lion  with  the  follow- 
ing lines,  upon  an  assurance,  that  if  you  thought 
them  not  proper  food  for  your  beast,  you  would 
at  least  permit  him  to  tear  them. 

‘from  ANACREON. 

“Aye  ^wye^affcov  api(r;e,”  &C. 

‘ Best  and  happiest  artisan, 

Best  of  painters,  if  yon  can 
With  your  many-coloured  art 
Paint  the  mistress  of  rny  heart; 

Describe  the  charms  you  hear  from  me, 

(Her  charms  you  could  not  paint  and  see) 

And  make  the  absent  nymph  appear 
As  if  her  lovely  self  was  here. 

First  draw  her  casy-flowinf;  hair 
As  soft  and  black  as  she  is  fair ; 

And,  if  your  art  can  rise  so  high. 

Let  breathing  odours  round  her  fly  : 

Beneath  the  shade  of  flowing  jet 
The  iv’ry  forehead  smoothly  set. 

With  care  the  sable  brows  extend. 

And  in  two  arches  nicely  bend; 

That  the  fair  space  which  lies  between 
The  melting  shade  may  scarce  be  seen. 

The  eye  must  be  uncommon  fire ; 

Sparkle,  languish,  and  desire  : 

The  flames  unseen  must  yet  be  felt; 

Like  Pallas  kill,  like  Venus  melt. 

The  rosy  cheeks  must  seem  to  glow 
Amidst  the  white  of  new  fall’n  snow. 

Let  her  lips  persuasion  wear. 

In  silence  elegantly  fair; 

As  if  the  blushing  rivals  strove. 

Breathing  and  inviting  love. 

Below  her  chin  be  sure  to  deck 
With  ev’ry  grace  her  polish’d  neck  ; 

While  all  that’s  pretty,  soft,  and  sweet 
In  the  swelling  bosom  meet. 

The  rest  in  purple  garments  veil ; 

Her  body,  not  her  shape  conceal: 

Enough — the  lovely  work  is  done. 

The  breathing  paint  will  speak  anon. 

‘ I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant.’ 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — The  letter  which  I sent  you 
some  time  ago,  and  was  subscribed  English 
Tory,  has  made,  as  you  must  have  observed,  a 


226 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


very  great  bustle  in  town.  There  are  come  out 
against  me  two  pamphlets  and  two  Examiners  ; 
but  there  are  printed  on  my  side  a letter  to  the 
Guardian  about  Dunkirk,  and  a pamphlet  called, 
Dunkirk  or  Dover.  I am  no  proper  judge  who 
has  the  better  of  the  argument,  the  Examiner 
or  myself:  but  T am  sure  my  seconds  are  better 
than  his.  I have  addressed  a defence  against 
the  ill  treatment  I have  received  for  my  letter 
(which  ought  to  have  made  every  man  in  Eng- 
land my  friend)  to  the  bailiff  of  Stockbridge, 
because,  as  the  world  goes,  I am  to  think  my- 
self very  much  obliged  to  that  honest  man,  and 
esteem  him  my  patron,  who  allowed  that  fifty 
was  a greater  number  than  one-and-twenty,  and 
returned  me  accordingly  to  serve  for  that  bo- 
rough. 

‘ There  are  very  many  scurrilous  things  said 
against  me,  but  I have  turned  them  to  my  ad- 
vantage, by  quoting  them  at  large,  and  by  that 
means  swelling  the  volume  to  a shilling  price. 
If  I may  be  so  free  with  myself,  I might  put 
you  in  mind,  upon  this  occasion,  of  one  of  those 
animals  which  are  famous  for  their  love  of  man- 
kind, that,  when  a bone  is  thrown  at  them,  fall 
to  eating  it,  instead  of  flying  at  the  person  who 
threw  it.  Please  to  read  the  account  of  the 
channel,  by  the  map  at  Will’s,  and  you  will  find 
what  I represent  concerning  the  importance  of 
Dunkirk,  as  to  its  situation,  very  just.  I am, 
sir,  very  often  your  great  admirer, 

‘RICHARD  STEELE.’ 


No.  169.]  Thursday^  September  24, 1713. 

Coelumque  tueri 

Jussit — Ovid.  Met.  Lib.  i.85. 

And  bade  him  lift  to  heaven  his  wond’ring  eyes. 

In  fair  weather,  when  my  heart  is  cheered, 
and  I feel  that  exaltation  of  spirits  which  re- 
sults from  light  and  warmth,  joined  with  a 
beautiful  prospect  of  nature  ; I regard  myself 
as  one  placed  by  the  hand  of  God  in  the  midst 
of  an  ample  theatre,  in  which  the  sun,  moon, 
and  stars,  the  fruits  also,  and  vegetables  of  the 
earth,  perpetually  changing  their  positions,  or 
their  aspects,  exhibit  an  elegant  entertainment 
to  the  understanding,  as  well  as  to  the  eye. 

Thunder  and  lightning,  rain  and  hail,  the 
painted  bow,  and  the  glaring  comets,  are  deco- 
rations of  this  mighty  theatre.  And  the  sable 
hemisphere  studded  with  spangles,  the  blue 
vault  at  noon,  the  glorious  gildings  and  rich 
colours  in  the  horizon,  I look  on  as  so  many 
successive  scenes. 

When  I consider  things  in  this  light,  me- 
thmks  it  is  a sort  of  impiety  to  have  no  attention 
to  the  course  of  nature,  and  the  revolutions  of 
the  heavenly  bodies.  To  be  regardless  of  those 
phenomena  that  are  placed  within  our  view,  on 
purpose  to  entertain  our  faculties,  and  display 
the  wisdom  and  power  of  their  Creator,  is  an 
affront  to  Providence  of  the  same  kind,  (I  hope 
it  is  not  impious  to  make  such  a simile)  as  it 
would  be  to  a good  poet,  to  fit  out  his  play  with- 
out minding  the  plot  or  beauties  of  it. 

And  yet  how  few  are  there  who  attend  to  the 
drama  of  nature,  its  artificial  structure,  and 


[No.  1S9. 

those  admirable  machines,  whereby  the  passions 
of  a philosopher  are  gratefully  agitated,  and  his 
soul  affected  with  the  sweet  emotions  of  joy  and 
surprise  ! 

How  many  fox-hunters  and  rural  squires  are 
to  be  found  in  Great  Britain,  who  are  ignorant 
that  they  have  all  this  while  lived  on  a planet ; 
that  the  sun  is  several  thousand  times  bigger 
than  the  earth  ; and  that  there  are  other  worlds 
within  our  view  greater  and  more  glorious  than 
our  own ! ‘ Ay,  but,’  says  some  illiterate  fel- 

low, ‘ I enjoy  the  world,  and  leave  others  to  con- 
template it.’  Yes,  you  eat  and  drink,  and  run 
about  upon  it,  that  is,  you  enjoy  it  as  a brute  ; 
but  to  enjoy  it  as  a rational  being,  is  to  know  it, 
to  be  sensible  of  its  greatness  and  beauty,  to  be 
delighted  with  its  harmony,  and  by  these  reflec- 
tions to  obtain  just  sentiments  of  the  Almighty 
mind  that  framed  it. 

The  man  who,  unembarrassed  with  vulgar 
cares,  leisurely  attends  to  the  flux  of  things  in 
heaven,  and  things  on  earth,  and  observes  the 
laws  by  which  they  are  governed,  hath  secured 
to  himself  an  easy  and  convenient  seat,  where 
he  beholds  with  pleasure  all  that  passes  on  the 
stage  of  nature,  while  those  about  him  are,  some 
fast  asleep,  and  others  struggling  for  the  highest 
places,  or  turning  their  eyes  from  the  entertain- 
ment prepared  by  Providence,  to  play  at  push- 
pin with  one  another. 

Within  this  ample  circumference  of  the  world, 
the  glorious  lights  that  are  hung  on  high,  the 
meteors  in  the  middle  region,  the  various  livery 
of  the  earth,  and  the  profusion  of  good  things 
that  distinguish  the  seasons,  yield  a prospect 
which  annihilates  all  human  grandeur.  But 
when  we  have  seen  frequent  returns  of  the 
same  things,  when  we  have  often  viewed  the 
heaven  and  the  earth  in  all  their  various  array, 
our  attention  flags,  and  our  admiration  ceases. 
All  the  art  and  magnificence  in  nature  could 
not  make  us  pleased  with  the  same  entertain- 
ment, presented  a hundred  years  successively 
to  our  view. 

I am  led  into  this  way  of  thinking  by  a ques- 
tion started  the  other  night,  viz  : Whether  it 
were  possible  that  a man  should  be  weary  of  a 
fortunate  and  healthy  course  of  life  ? My  opinion 
was,  that  the  bare  repetition  of  the  same  objects, 
abstracted  from  all  other  inconveniencies,  was 
sufficient  to  create  in  our  minds  a distaste  of 
the  world  ; and  that  the  abhorrence  old  men 
have  of  death,  proceeds  rather  from  a distrust 
of  what  may  follow,  than  from  the  prospect  of 
losing  any  present  enjoyments.  For  (as  an 
ancient  author  somewhere  expresses  it)  when 
a man  has  seen  the  vicissitudes  of  night  and 
day,  winter  and  summer,  spring  and  autumn, 
the  returning  faces  of  the  several  parts  of  na- 
ture, w’hat  is  there  further  to  detain  his  fancy 
here  below  7 

The  spectacle  indeed  is  glorious,  and  may 
bear  viewing  several  times.  But  in  a very  few 
scenes  of  revolving  years,  we  feel  a satiety  of 
the  same  images:  the  mind  grows  impatient  to 
see  the  curtain  drawn,  and  behold  new  scenes 
disclosed ; and  the  imagination  is  in  this  life, 
filled  with  a eonfused  idea  of  the  next. 

Death,  considered  in  this  light,  is  no  more 
than  passing  from  one  entertainment  to  another. 


No.  170.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


a27 


If  the  present  objects  are  grown  tiresome  and 
distasteful,  it  is  in  order  to  prepare  our  minds 
for  a more  exquisite  relish  of  those  which  are 
fresh  and  new.  If  the  good  things  we  have 
hitherto  enjoyed  are  transient,  they  will  be  suc- 
ceeded by  those  which  the  inexhaustible  power 
of  the  Deity  will  supply  to  eternal  ages.  If  the 
pleasures  of  our  present  state  are  blended  with 
pain  and  uneasiness,  our  future  will  consist  of 
sincere  unmixed  delights.  Blessed  hope ! the 
thought  whereof  turns  the  very  imperfections 
of  our  nature  into  occasions  of  comfort  and  joy. 

But  what  consolation  is  left  to  the  man  who 
hath  no  hope  or  prospect  of  these  things?  View 
him  in  that  part  of  life,  when  the  natural  decay 
of  his  faculties  concurs  with  the  frequency  of 
the  same  objects  to  make  him  weary  of  this 
world,  when  like  a man  who  hangs  upon  a pre- 
cipice, his  present  situation  is  uneasy,  and  the 
moment  that  he  quits  his  hold,  he  is  sure  of 
sinking  into  hell  or  annihilation. 

There  is  not  any  character  so  hateful  as  his 
who  invents  racks  and  tortures  for  mankind. 
The  free-thinkers  make  it  their  business  to  in- 
troduce doubts,  perplexities,  and  despair,  into 
the  minds  of  men,  and,  according  to  the  poet’s 
rule,  are  most  justly  punished  by  their  own 
schemes. 


No.  170.]  Fnday,  September  25,  1713. 

Timeo  Danaos,  et  dona  ferentes. 

yirg.  iEn.  ii.  49. 

I fear  your  Greeks,  with  presents  in  their  hands. 

‘ London,  Sept.  22. 

‘ Most  venerable  Nestor, — The  plan  laid 
down  in  your  first  paper  gives  me  a title  and 
authority  to  apply  to  you  in  behalf  of  the  trad- 
ing world.  According  to  the  general  scheme 
you  proposed  in  your  said  first  paper,  you  have 
not  professed  only  to  entertain  men  of  wit  and 
polite  taste,  but  also  to  be  useful  to  the  trader 
and  the  artificer.  You  cannot  do  your  country 
greater  service  than  by  informing  all  ranks  of 
men  amongst  us,  that  the  greatest  benefactor  to 
them  all  is  the  merchant.  The  merchant  ad- 
vances the  gentleman’s  rent,  gives  the  artificer 
food,  and  supplies  the  courtier’s  luxury.  But 
give  me  leave  to  say,  that  neither  you,  nor  all 
your  clan  of  wits,  can  put  together  so  useful  and 
commodious  a treatise  for  the  welfare  of  your 
fellow-subjects  as  that  which  an  eminent  mer- 
chant of  the  city  has  lately  written.  It  is  called. 
General  Maxims  of  Trade,  particularly  applied 
to  the  Commerce  between  Great-Britain  and 
France.  I have  made  an  extract  of  it,  so  as  to 
bring  it  within  the  compass  of  your  paper,  which 
take  as  follows : 

‘ I.  That  trade  which  exports  manufactures 
made  of  the  product  of  the  country,  is  undoubt- 
edly good:  such  as  the  sending  abroad  our 
Yorkshire  cloth,  Colchester  baize,  Exeter  serges, 
Norwich  stuffs,  &c. ; which  being  made  purely 
of  British  wool,  as  much  as  those  exports  amount 
to,  so  much  is  the  clear  gain  of  the  nation. 

‘ II.  That  trade  which  helps  off  the  consump- 
tion of  our  superfluities,  is  also  visibly  advan- 
tageous; as  the  exporting  of  alum,  copperas,  lea- 


ther, tin,  lead,  coals,  «&c.  So  much  as  the  ex- 
ported superfluities  amount  unto,  so  much  also 
is  the  clear  national  profit. 

‘ III.  The  importing  of  foreign  materials  to 
be  manufactured  at  home,  especially  when  the 
goods,  after  they  are  manufactured,  are  mostly 
sent  abroad,  is  also,  without  dispute,  very  bene- 
ficial; as  for  instance,  Spanish  wool,  which  for 
that  reason  is  exempted  from  paying  any  duties. 

‘ IV.  The  importation  of  foreign  materials,  to 
be  manufactured  here,  although  the  manufac- 
tured goods  are  chiefly  consumed  by  us,  may 
be  also  beneficial ; especially  when  the  said  ma- 
terials are  procured  in  exchange  for  our  com- 
modities ; as  raw  silk,  grogram-yarn,  and  other 
goods  brought  from  Turkey. 

‘ V.  Foreign  materials,  wrought  up  here  into 
such  goods  as  would  otherwise  be  imported  rea- 
dy manufactured,  is  a means  of  saving  money 
to  the  nation : such  is  the  importation  of  hemp, 
flax,  and  raw  silk ; it  is  therefore  to  be  wondered 
at,  that  these  commodities  are  not  exempt  from 
all  duties,  as  well  as  Spanish  wool. 

‘ VI.  A trade  may  be  called  good  which  ex- 
changes manufactures  for  manufactures,  and 
commodities  for  commodities.  Germany  takes 
as  much  in  value  of  our  woollen  and  other  goods, 
as  we  do  of  their  linen  : by  this  means  numbers 
of  people  are  employed  on  both  sides,  to  their 
mutual  advantage. 

‘ VII.  An  importation  of  commodities,  bought 
partly  for  money  and  partly  for  goods,  may  be 
of  national  advantage ; if  the  greatest  part  of 
the  commodities  thus  imported,  are  again  ex- 
ported, as  in  the  case  of  East  India  goods,  and 
generally  all  imports  of  goods  which  are  re- 
exported, are  beneficial  to  a nation. 

‘ VIII.  The  carrying  of  goods  from  one  fo- 
reign country  to  another,  is  a profitable  article 
in  trade.  Our  ships  are  often  thus  employed 
between  Portugal,  Italy,  and  the  Levant,  and 
sometimes  in  the  East  Indies. 

‘ IX.  When  there  is  a necessity  to  import 
goods  which  a nation  cannot  be  without,  al- 
though such  goods  are  chiefly  purchased  with 
money,  it  cannot  be  accounted  a bad  trade,  as 
our  trade  to  Norway  and  other  parts,  from 
whence  are  imported  naval  stores,  and  materi- 
als for  building. 

‘ But  a trade  is  disadvantageous  to  a nation  ■ 

‘ 1.  Which  brings  in  things  of  mere  luxury 
and  pleasure,  which  are  entirely,  or  for  the  most 
part,  consumed  among  us ; and  such  I reckon 
the  v;ine  trade  to  be,  especially  when  the  wine 
is  purchased  with  money,  and  not  in  exchange 
for  our  commodities. 

‘ 2.  Much  worse  is  that  trade  which  brings  in 
a commodity  that  is  not  only  consumed  amongst 
us,  but  hinders  the  consumption  of  the  like  quan- 
tity of  ours.  As  is  the  importation  of  brandy, 
which  hinders  the  spending  of  our  extracts  of 
malt  and  molasses;  therefore  very  prudently 
charged  with  excessive  duties. 

‘ 3.  That  trade  is  eminently  bad,  which  sup- 
plies the  same  goods  as  we  manufacture  our- 
selves, especially  if  we  can  make  enough  for 
our  consumption : and  I take  this  to  be  the  case 
of  the  silk  manufacture ; which,  with  great  la- 
bour and  industry,  is  brought  to  perfection  in 
London,  Canterbury,  and  other  places 


228 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


‘ 4.  The  importation  upon  easy  terms  of  such 
manufactures  as  are  already  introduced  in  a 
country,  must  be  of  bad  consequence,  and  check 
their  progress ; as  it  would  undoubtedly  be  the 
case  of  the  linen  and  paper  manufactures  in 
Great  Britain,  (which  are  of  late  very  much  im- 
proved) if  those  commodities  were  suffered  to 
be  brought  in  without  paying  very  high  duties. 

‘ Let  us  now  judge  of  our  trade  with  France 
by  the  foregoing  maxims. 

‘ I.  The  exportation  of  our  woollen  goods  to 
France,  is  so  well  barred  against,  that  there  is 
not  the  least  hope  of  reaping  any  benefit  by  this 
article.  They  have  their  work  done  for  half  the 
price  we  pay  for  ours.  And  since  they  send 
great  quantities  of  woollen  goods  to  Italy,  Spain, 
Portugal,  Turkey,  the  Rhine,  and  other  places, 
although  they  pay  a duty  upon  exportation,  it 
is  a demonstration,  that  they  have  more  than  is 
sufficient  for  their  own  wear,  and  consequently 
no  great  occasion  for  any  of  ours.  The  French 
cannot  but  be  so  sensible  of  the  advantage  they 
have  over  us  in  point  of  cheapness,  that  I do  not 
doubt  they  will  give  us  leave  to  import  into 
France  not  only  woollen  goods,  but  all  other 
commodities  whatsoever,  upon  very  easy  duties, 
provided  we  permit  them  to  import  into  Great 
Britain  wines,  brandies,  silk,  linen,  and  paper, 
upon  paying  the  same  duties  as  others  do.  And 
when  that  is  done,  you  will  send  little  more  to 
France  than  now  you  do,  and  they  will  import 
into  Great  Britain  ten  times  more  than  now  they 
can. 

‘ II.  As  to  our  superfluities,  it  must  be  owned 
the  French  have  occasion  for  some  of  them,  as 
lead,  tin,  leather,  copperas,  coals,  alum,  and  se- 
veral other  things  of  small  value,  as  also  some 
few  of  our  plantation  commodities ; but  these 
goods  they  will  have  whether  we  take  any  of 
theirs  or  no,  because  they  want  them.  All  these 
commodities  together,  that  the  French  want 
from  us,  may  amount  to  about  two  hundred 
thousand  pounds  yearly. 

‘ III.  As  to  materials;  I do  not  know  of  any 
one  sort  useful  to  us  that  ever  was  imported 
from  France  into  England.  They  have  indeed 
hemp,  flax,  and  wool  in  abundance,  and  some 
raw  silk ; but  they  are  too  wise  to  let  us  have 
any,  especially  as  long  as  they  entertain  any 
hopes  we  shall  be  so  self-denying,  as  to  take 
those  materials  from  them  after  they  are  manu- 
factured. 

‘ IV.  Exchanging  commodities  for  commodi- 
ties (if  for  the  like  value  on  both  sides)  might 
be  beneficial ; but  it  is  far  from  being  the  case 
between  us  and  France.  Our  ships  went  con- 
stantly in  ballast  (except  now  and  then  some 
lead)  to  St.  Male,  Morlaix,  Nantes,  Rochelle, 
Bourdeaux,  Bayonne,  &c.  and  ever  came  back 
full  of  linen,  wines,  brandy,  and  paper ; and  if 
it  was  so  before  the  revolution,  when  one  of  our 
pounds  sterling  cost  the  French  but  thirteen  li- 
vres,  what  are  they  like  to  take  from  us  (except 
what  they  of  necessity  want)  now  that  for  each 
pound  sterling  they  must  pay  us  twenty  livres, 
which  enhances  the  price  of  all  British  commo- 
dities to  the  French  above  fifty  per  cent. 

‘ V.  Goods  imported  to  be  re-exported,  is  cer- 
tainly  a national  advantage ; but  few  or  no 
French  goods  are  ever  exported  from  Great 


[No.  170. 

Britain,  except  to  our  plantations,  but  all  are 
consumed  at  home ; therefore  no  benefit  can  be 
reaped  this  way  by  the  French  trade. 

‘ VI.  Letting  ships  to  freight  cannot  but  be 
of  some  profit  to  a nation ; but  it  is  very  rare 
if  the  French  ever  make  use  of  any  other  ships 
than  their  own ; they  victual  and  man  cheaper 
than  we,  therefore  nothing  is  to  be  got  from 
them  by  this  article. 

‘ VII.  Things  that  are  of  absolute  necessity 
cannot  be  reckoned  prejudicial  to  a nation  ; but 
France  produces  nothing  that  is  necessary,  or 
even  convenient,  or  but  which  we  had  better  be 
without,  except  claret. 

‘ VIII.  If  the  importation  of  commodities  of 
mere  luxury,  to  be  consumed  amongst  us,  be  a 
sensible  disadvantage,  the  French  trade  in  this 
particular  might  be  highly  pernicious  to  this 
nation;  for  if  the  duties  on  French  wines  be 
lowered  to  a considerable  degree,  the  least  we 
can  suppose  would  be  imported  into  England 
and  Scotland  is  eighteen  thousand  tons  a year, 
which  being  most  clarets,  at  a moderate  com- 
putation, would  cost  in  France  four  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  pounds. 

‘ IX.  As  to  brandy ; since  we  have  laid  high 
duties  upon  it,  the  distilling  of  spirits  from  malt 
and  molasses  is  much  improved  and  increased, 
by  means  of  which  a good  sum  of  money  is 
yearly  saved  to  the  nation  ; for  very  little  brandy 
hath  been  imported  either  from  Italy,  Portugal, 
or  Spain,  by  reason  that  our  English  spirits  are 
near  as  good  as  those  countries’  brandies.  But 
as  French  brandy  is  esteemed,  and  is  indeed 
very  good,  if  the  extraordinary  duty  on  that  li- 
quor  be  taken  off,  there  is  no  doubt  but  great 
quantities  will  be  imported.  We  will  suppose 
only  three  thousand  tons  a year,  which  will  cost 
Great  Britain  about  seventy  thousand  pounds 
yearly,  and  prejudice  besides  the  extracts  of  our 
own  malt  spirits. 

‘ X.  Linen  is  an  article  of  more  consequence 
than  many  people  are  aware  of : Ireland,  Scot- 
land, and  several  counties  in  England,  have 
made  large  steps  towards  the  improvement  of 
that-  useful  manufacture,  both  in  quantity  and 
quality;  and  with  good  encouragement  would 
doubtless,  in  a few  years,  bring  it  to  perfection, 
and  perhaps  make  sufficient  for  our  own  con- 
sumption ; which  besides  employing  great  num- 
bers  of  people,  and  improving  many  acres  of 
land,  would  save  us  a good  sum  of  money,  which 
is  yearly  laid  out  abroad  in  that  commodity. 
As  the  case  stands  at  present,  it  improves  daily ; 
but  if  the  duties  on  French  linen  be  reduced,  it 
is  to  be  feared  it  will  come  over  so  cheap,  that 
our  looms  must  be  laid  aside,  and  six  or  seven 
hundred  thousand  pounds  a year  be  sent  over  to 
France  for  that  commodity. 

‘ XI.  The  manufacture  of  paper  is  very  near 
akin  to  that  of  linen.  Since  the  high  duties  laid 
on  foreign  paper,  and  that  none  hath  been  im- 
ported from  France,  where  it  is  cheapest,  the 
making  of  it  is  increased  to  such  a degree  in 
England,  that  wc  import  none  of  the  lower  sorts 
from  abroad,  and  make  them  all  ourselves ; but 
if  the  French  duties  be  taken  off,  undoubtedly 
most  of  the  mills  which  are  employed  in  the 
making  of  white  paper,  must  leave  off  their 
work,  and  thirty  or  forty  thousand  pounds  a 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


229 


No.  171.] 


year  be  remitted  over  to  France  for  that  com- 
modity. 

‘XII.  The  last  article  concerns  the  silk  ma- 
nufacture. Since  the  late  French  wars,  it  is  in- 
creased to  a mighty  degree.  Spitalfiields  alone 
manufactures  to  the  value  of  two  millions  a 
year,  and  were  daily  improving,  till  the  late 
fears  about  lowering  the  French  duties.  What 
pity  that  so  noble  a manufacture,  so  extensive, 
and  so  beneficial  to  an  infinite  number  of  people, 
should  run  the  hazard  of  being  ruined  ! It  is 
however  to  be  feared,  that  if  the  French  can  im- 
port their  wrought  silks  upon  easy  terms,  they 
outdo  us  so  much  in  cheapness  of  labour ; and 
they  have  Italian  and  Levant  raw  silk  upon  so 
much  easier  terms  than  we,  besides  great  quan- 
tities of  their  own  in  Provence,  Languedoc,  and 
other  provinces,  that  in  all  probability  half  the 
looms  in  Spitalfields  would  be  laid  down,  and 
our  ladies  be  again  clothed  in  French  silks.  The 
loss  that  would  accrue  to  the  nation  by  so  great 
a mischief,  cannot  be  valued  at  less  than  five 
hundred  thousand  pounds  a year. 

‘To  sum  up  all,  if  we  pay  to  France  yearly. 
For  their  wines  ...  X450,000 

For  their  brandies  - - - 70,000 

For  their  linen  ...  600,000 

For  their  paper  - - 30,000 

For  their  silks  ...  500,000 


* And  they  take  from  us  in  lead, 
tin,  leather,  alum,  copperas,  coals, 
horn,  plates,  &,c.  and  plantation 
goods  to  the  value  of 


i;i,650,000 

I-  200,000 
J 


‘ Great  Britain  loses  by  the  ba-  ? , 
lance  of  that  trade  yearly  \ ’ ’ 

‘ All  which  is  humbly  submitted  to  your  con- 
sideration by,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 
‘GENEROSITY  THRIFT.’ 


ADVERTISEMENT, 

For  the  Protection  of  Honour,  Truth,  Virtue, 
and  Innocence. 

Mr.  Ironside  has  ordered  his  amanuensis  to 
prepare  for  his  perusal  whatever  he  may  have 
gathered,  from  his  table-talk,  or  otherwise,  a 
volume  to  be  printed  in  twelves,  called.  The  Art 
of  Defamation  discovered.  This  piece  is  to  con- 
sist of  the  true  characters  of  all  persons  calum- 
niated by  the  Examiner  ; and  after  such  charac- 
ters, the  true  and  only  method  of  sullying  them 
set  forth  in  examples  from  the  ingenious  and 
artificial  author,  the  said  Examiner. 

N.  B.  To  this  will  be  added  the  true  charac- 
ters of  persons  he  has  commended,  with  observa- 
tions to  show,  that  panegyric  is  not  tliat  author’s 
talent. 


No.  171.]  Saturday,  September  26,  1713. 

Fuit  ista  quondam  in  hac  repiiblica  virtus,  ut  viri 
fortes  acrioribus  suppliciis  civeni  perniciosum,  quam 
acerbissimuin  hostera  coercerent.  Cicer.  in  Catalin. 

There  was  once  that  virtue  in  this  commonwealth, 
that  a bad  fellow-citizen  was  thought  to  deserve  a se- 
verer correction  than  the  bitterest  enemy. 


I HAVE  received  letters  of  congratulation  and 
thanks  from  several  of  the  most  eminent  choco- 
late-houses  and  coffee-houses,  upon  my  late  gal- 
lantry and  success  in  opposing  myself  to  the 
long  swords.  One  tells  me,  that  whereas  his 
rooms  were  too  little  before,  now  his  customers 
can  saunter  up  and  down  from  corner  to  corner, 
and  table  to  table,  without  any  let  or  molestation. 
I find  I have  likewise  cleared  a great  many  al- 
leys and  by-lanes,  made  the  public  walks  about 
town  more  spacious,  and  all  the  passages  about 
the  court  and  the  exchange  more  free  and  open. 
Several  of  my  female  wards  have  sent  me  the 
kindest  billets  upon  this  occasion,  in  which  they 
tell  me,  that  I have  saved  them  some  pounds  in 
the  year,  by  freeing  their  furbelows,  flounces, 
and  hoops,  from  the  annoyance  both  of  hilt  and 
point.  A scout  whom  I sent  abroad  to  observe 
the  posture,  and  to  pry  into  the  intentions  of 
the  enemy,  brings  me  word  that  the  Terri- 
ble club  is  quite  blown  up,  and  that  I have  to- 
tally routed  the  men  that  seemed  to  delight  in 
arms.  My  lion,  whose  jaws  are  at  all  hours 
open  to  intelligence,  informs  me,  that  there  are 
a few  enormous  weapons  still  in  being  ; but  that 
they  are  to  be  met  with  only  in  gaming-houses, 
and  some  of  the  obscure  retreats  of  lovers  in  and 
about  Drury-lane  and  Covent-garden.  I am 
highly  delighted  with  an  adventure  that  befell 
my  witty  antagonist,  Tom  Swagger,  captain  of 
the  band  of  long  swords.  He  had  the  misfor- 
tune three  days  ago  to  fall  into  company  with 
a master  of  the  noble  science  of  defence,  who 
taking  Mr.  Swagger  by  his  habit,  and  the  airs 
he  gave  himselfj  to  be  one  of  the  profession, 
gave  him  a fair  invitation  to  Mary-le-bone,  to 
exercise  at  the  usual  weapons.  The  captain 
thought  this  so  foul  a disgrace  to  a gentleman, 
that  he  slunk  away  in  the  greatest  confusion, 
and  has  never  been  seen  since  at  the  Tilt-yard 
coffee-house,  nor  in  any  of  his  usual  haunts. 

As  there  is  nothing  made  in  vain,  and  as 
every  plant  and  every  animal,  though  never  so 
noisome,  has  its  use  in  the  creation ; so  these 
men  of  terror  may  be  disposed  of,  so  as  to  make 
a figure  in  the  polite  world.  It  was  in  this  view, 
that  I received  a visit  last  night  from  a person, 
who  pretends  to  be  employed  here  from  several 
foreign  princes  in  negotiating  matters  of  less 
importance.  He  tells  me,  that  the  continual 
wars  in  Europe  have  in  a manner  quite  drained 
the  cantons  of  Switzerland  of  their  supernume- 
rary subjects,  and  that  he  foresees  there  will  be 
a great  scarcity  of  them  to  serve  at  the  entrance 
of  courts,  and  the  palaces  of  great  men.  He  is 
of  opinion  this  want  may  very  seasonably  be 
supplied  out  of  llie  great  numbers  of  such  gen. 
tlemen,  as  I have  given  notice  of  in  my  paper 
of  the  twenty-fifth  past,  and  that  his  design  is 
in  a few  weeks,  when  the  town  fills,  to  put  out 
public  advertisements  to  this  effect,  not  ques- 
tioning but  it  may  turn  to  a good  account : 
‘ That  if  any  person  of  good  stature  and  fierce 
demeanor,  as  well  members  of  the  Terrible 
club,  as  others  of  the  like  exterior  ferocity  whose 
ambition  is  to  cock  and  look  big,  without  ex- 
posing themselves  to  any  bodily  danger,  will 
repair  to  his  lodgings,  they  shall  (provided  they 
bring  their  swords  with  them)  be  furnished 
with  shoulder-belts,  broad  hats,  red  feathers, 
20 


230  , THE  GUARDIAN. 


and  halberts,  and  be  transported  without  farther 
trouble  into  several  courts  and  families  of  dis- 
tinction, where  they  may  eat,  and  drink,  and 
strut,  at  free  cost.’  As  this  project  was  not 
communicated  to  me  for  a secret,  I thought  it 
might  be  for  the  service  of  the  above-said  per- 
sons to  divulge  it  with  all  convenient  speed ; 
that  those  who  are  disposed  to  employ  their  ta- 
lents to  the  best  advantage,  and  to  shine  in  the 
station  of  life  for  which  they  seem  to  be  born, 
may  have  time  to  adorn  their  upper  lip,  by  rais- 
ing a quickset  beard  there  in  the  form  of  whisk- 
ers, that  they  may  pass  to  aH  intents  and  pur- 
poses for  true  Switzers. 

‘ Indefatigable  Nestor, — Give  me  leave  to 
thank  you,  in  behalf  of  myself  and  my  whole 
family,  for  the  daily  diversion  and  improvement 
we  receive  from  your  labours.  At  the  same 
time  I must  acquaint  you,  that  we  have  all  of 
us  taken  a mighty  liking  to  your  lion.  His  roar- 
ings are  the  joy  of  my  heart,  and  I have  a little 
boy,  not  three  years  old,  that  talks  of  nothing 
else,  and  who,  I hope,  will  be  more  afraid  of 
him  as  he  grows  up.  That  your  animal  may  be 
kept  in  good  plight,  and  not  roar  for  want  of 
prey,  I shall,  out  of  my  esteem  and  affection 
for  you,  contribute  what  I can  towards  his  sus- 
tenance : “ Love  me,  love  my  lion,”  says  the 
proverb.  I will  not  pretend,  at  any  time,  to  fur- 
nish out  a full  meal  for  him ; but  I shall  now 
and  then  send  him  a savory  morsel,  a tid  bit. 
You  must  know,  I am  but  a kind  of  holiday 
writer,  and  never  could  find  in  my  heart  to  set 
my  pen  to  a work  of  above  five  or  six  periods 
long.  My  friends  tell  me  my  performances  are 
little  and  pretty.  As  they  have  no  manner  of 
connexion  one  with  the  other,  I write  them  upon 
loose  pieces  of  paper,  and  throw  them  into  a 
drawer  by  themselves  ; this  drawer  I call  the 
lion’s  pantry.  I give  you  my  word,  I put  no- 
thing into  it  but  what  is  clean  and  wholesome 
nourriture^  Therefore  remember  me  to  the  lion, 
and  let  him  know,  that  I shall  always  pick  and 
cull  the  pantry  for  him  ; and  there  are  morsels 
in  it,  I can  assure  you,  will  make  his  chaps  to 
water.  I am,  with  the  greatest  respect,  sir,  your 
most  obedient  servant,  and  most  assiduous 
reader.’ 

I must  ask  pardon  of  Mrs.  Dorothy  Care,  that 
I have  suffered  her  billet  to  lie  by  me  these  three 
weeks  without  taking  the  least  notice  of  it.  But 
I believe  the  kind  warning  in  it,  to  our  sex,  will 
not  be  now  too  late. 

‘ Good  Mr.  Ironside, — I have  waited  with  im- 
patience for  that  same  unicorn  you  promised 
should  be  erected  for  the  fair  sex.  ?4y  business, 
is,  before  winter  comes  on,  to  desire  you  would 
precaution  your  own  sex  against  being  Adam- 
ites,  by  exposing  their  bare  breasts  to  the  rigour 
of  the  season.  It  was  this  practice  amongst  the 
fellows,  which  at  firstencouraged  our  sex  to  show 
so  much  of  their  necks.  The  downy  dock- 
leaves  you  speak  of  would  make  good  stomach- 
ers for  the  beaux.  In  a word,  good  Nestor,  so 
long  as  the  men  take  a pride  in  showing  their 
hairy  skins,  we  may  with  a much  better  grace 
set  out  our  snowy  chests  to  view.  We  are,  we 
own,  the  weaker,  but  at  the  same  time,  you 


[No.  172. 

must  own,  much  the  more  beautiful  sex.  I am, 
sir,  your  humble  reader, 

‘ DOROTHY  CARE.’ 


No.  172.]  Monday^  September  28-,  1713. 

— Vitam  excoluere  per  artes.  Virg.  J£r\.  vi.  663. 

They  grac’d  their  age  with  new  invented  arts. 

Dryden, 

‘ Mr.  Ironside, — I have  been  a long  time  in 
expectation  of  something  from  you  on  the  sub- 
ject of  speech  and  letters.  I believe  the  world 
might  be  as  agreeably  entertained  on  that  sub- 
ject, as  with  any  thing  that  ever  came  into  the 
lion’s  mouth.  For  this  end  I send  you  the  fol 
lowing  sketch ; and  am,  yours, 

‘ PHILOGRAM. 

‘ Upon  taking  a view  of  the  several  species 
of  living  creatures  our  earth  is  stocked  with, 
we  may  easily  observe,  that  the  lower  orders  of 
them,  such  as  insects  and  fishes,  are  wholly 
without  a power  of  making  known  their  wants 
and  calamities.  Others,  which  are  conversant 
with  man,  have  some  few  ways  of  expressing 
the  pleasure  and  pain  they  undergo  by  certain 
sounds  and  gestures;  but  man  has  articulate 
sounds  whereby  to  make  known  his  inward  sen- 
timents  and  affections,  though  his  organs  of 
speech  are  no  other  than  what  he  has  in  com- 
mon with  many  other  less  perfect  animals.  But 
the  use  of  letters,  as  significative  of  these  sounds, 
is  such  an  additional  improvement  to  them,  that 
I know  not  whether  we  ought  not  to  attribute 
the  invention  of  them  to  the  assistance  of  a 
power  more  than  human. 

‘ There  is  this  great  difficulty  which  could 
not  but  attend  the  first  invention  of  letters,  to 
wit,  that  all  the  world  must  conspire  in  affixing 
steadily  the  same  signs  to  their  sounds,  which 
affixing  was  at  first  as  arbitrary  as  possible; 
there  being  no  more  connexion  between  the  let- 
ters and  the  sounds  they  are  expressive  of,  than 
there  is  between  those  sounds  and  the  ideas  of 
the  mind  they  immediately  stand  for.  Notwith- 
standing which  difficulty,  and  the  variety  of 
languages,  the  powers  of  the  letters  in  each  are 
very  nearly  the  same,  being  in  all  places  about 
twenty -four. 

‘ But  be  the  difficulty  of  the  invention  as  great 
as  it  will,  the  use  of  it  is  manifest,  particularly 
in  the  advantage  it  has  above  the  method  of 
conveying  our  thoughts  by  words  or  sounds, 
because  this  way  we  are  confined  to  narrow 
limits  of  place  and  time  : whereas  we  may  have 
occasion  to  correspond  with  a friend  at  a dis- 
tance; or  a desire,  upon  a particular  occasion, 
to  take  the  opinion  of  an  honest  gentleman  who 
has  been  dead  this  thousand  years.  Both  which 
defects  are  supplied  by  the  noble  invention  of 
letters.  By  this  means  we  materialize  our  ideas, 
and  make  them  as  lasting  as  the  ink  and  paper, 
their  vehicles.  This  making  our  thoughts  by 
art  visible  to  the  eye,  which  nature  had  made 
intelligible  only  by  the  ear,  is  next  to  the  add- 
ing a sixth  sense,  as  it  is  a supply  in  case  of 
the  defect  of  one  of  the  five  nature  gave  us, 
namely,  hearing,  by  making  the  voice  become 
visible. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


231 


No.  173.] 

* Have  any  of  any  school  of  painters  gotten 
themselves  an  immortal  name,  by  drawing  a 
face,  or  painting  a landscape  ; by  laying  down 
on  a piece  of  canvass  a representation  only  of 
what  nature  had  given  them  originals?  What 
applauses  will  he  merit,  who  first  made  his 
ideas  sit  to  his  pencil,  and  drew  to  his  eye  the 
picture  of  his  mind  ! Painting  represents  the 
outward  man,  or  the  shell ; but  cannot  reach  the 
inhabitant  within,  or  the  very  organ  by  which 
the  inhabitant  is  revealed.  This  art  may  reach 
to  represent  a face,  but  cannot  paint  a voice. 
Kneller  can  draw  the  majesty  of  the  queen’s 
person  ; Kneller  can  draw  her  sublime  air,  and 
paint  her  bestowing  hand  as  fair  as  the  lily  ; but 
the  historian  must  inform  posterity,  that  she  has 
one  peculiar  excellence  above  all  other  mortals, 
that  her  ordinary  speech  is  more  charming  than 
song. 

‘ But  to  drop  the  comparison  of  this  art  with 
any  other,  let  us  see  the  benefit  of  it  in  itself. 
By  it  the  English  trader  may  hold  commerce 
with  the  inhabitants  of  the  East  or  West  In- 
dies, without  the  trouble  of  a journey.  Astro- 
nomers seated  at'  a distance  of  the  earth’s 
diameter  asunder,  may  confer ; what  is  spo- 
ken and  thought  at  one  pole,  may  be  heard 
and  understood  at  the  other.  The  philosopher 
who  wished  he  had  a window  in  his  breast,  to 
lay  open  his  heart  to  all  the  world,  might  as 
easily  have  revealed  the  secrets  of  it  this  way, 
and  as  easily  left  them  to  the  world,  as  wished 
it.  This  silent  art  of  speaking  by  letters,  re- 
medies the  inconvenience  arising  from  distance 
of  time,  as  well  as  place ; and  is  much  beyond 
that  of  the  Egyptians,  who  could  preserve  their 
mummies  for  ten  centuries.  This  preserves  the 
works  of  the  immortal  part  of  men,  so  as  to 
make  the  dead  still  useful  to  the  living.  To  this 
we  are  beholden  for  the  works  of  Demosthenes 
and  Cicero,  of  Seneca  and  Plato  ; without  it  the 
Iliad  of  Homer,  and  ^neid  of  Virgil,  had  died 
with  their  authors;  but  by  this  art  those  excel- 
lent men  still  speak  to  us. 

‘ I shall  be  glad  if  what  I have  said  on  this 
art,  gives  you  any  new  hints  for  the  more  use- 
ful or  agreeable  application  of  it.  I am,  sir,  t&c,’ 

I shall  conclude  this  paper  with  an  extract 
from  a poem  in  praise  of  the  invention  of  writ- 
ing, ‘ written  by  a lady.’  I am  glad  of  such  a 
quotation,  which  is  not  only  another  instance 
how  much  the  world  is  obliged  to  this  art,  but 
also  a shining  example  of  what  I have  hereto- 
fore asserted,  that  the  fair  sex  are  as  capable  as 
men  of  the  liberal  sciences  ; and  indeed  there  is 
no  very  good  argument  against  the  frequent  in- 
struction of  females  of  condition  this  way,  but 
that  they  are  but  too  powerful  without  that  ad- 
vantage. The  verses  of  the  charming  author  are 
as  follow : 


And  wealthy  equipage,  though  grave  and  slow, 
But  not  a line  that  might  the  lover  show. 

The  ring  and  bracelets  woo’d  her  hands  and  arms, 
But  had  she  known  of  melting  words  the  charms 
That  under  secret  seals  in  ambush  lie, 

To  catch  the  soul,  when  drawn  into  the  eye  ; 

The  fair  Assyrian  had  not  took  his  guide. 

Nor  her  soft  heart  in  chains  of  pearl  been  ty’d.’ 


No.  173.]  Tuesday,  September  29,  1713. 

Nec  sera  comantem 

Narcissum,  aut  fle.\i  tacuissem  vimen  acanthi, 
Pallentesque  hederas,  et  amantes  littora  myrtos. 

Virff.  Georg,  iv.  122. 

The  late  Narcissus,  and  the  winding  trail 
Of  bear’s-foot,  myrtles  green,  and  ivy  pale. 

Dryden. 

I LATELY  took  a particular  friend  of  mind  to 
my  house  in  the  country,  not  without  some  ap- 
prehension  that  it  could  afford  little  entertain- 
ment  to  a man  of  his  polite  taste,  particularly 
in  architecture  and  gardening,  who  had  so  long 
been  eonversant  with  all  that  is  beautiful  and 
great  in  either.  But  it  was  a pleasant  surprise 
to  me,  to  hear  him  often  declare,  he  had  found 
in  my  little  retirement  that  beauty  which  he 
always  thought  wanting  in  the  most  celebrated 
seats,  or,  if  you  will,  villas,  of  the  nation.  This 
he  described  to  me  in  those  verses,  with  which 
Martial  begins  one  of  his  epigrams  : 

‘Baiana  nostri  villa,  Basse,  Faustini, 

Non  otiosis  ordinata  myrtetis, 

Viduaque  platano,  tonsilique  buxeto. 

Ingrata  lati  spatia  detinet  campi ; 

Sed  rule  vero  barbaroque  leBtatur.’  Lib.  iii,  Ep.  58. 

‘ Our  friend  Faustinus’  country  seat  I've  seen  : 

No  myrtles,  plac’d  in  rows,  and  idly  green. 

No  widow’d  plantain,  nor  clyp’d  box-tree  there. 

The  useless  soil  unprofitably  share; 

But  simple  nature’s  hand,  with  nobler  grace. 
Diffuses  artless  beauties  o'er  the  place.’"^ 

There  is  certainly  something  in  the  amiable 
simplicity  of  unadorned  nature  that  spreads 
over  the  mind  a more  noble  sort  of  tranquillity, 
and  a loftier  sensation  of  pleasure,  that  can  be 
raised  from  the  nicer  scenes  of  art. 

This  was  the  taste  of  the  ancients  in  their 
gardens,  as  we  may  discover  from  the  descrip- 
tions extant  of  them.  The  two  most  celebrated 
wits  of  the  world  have  each  of  them  left  us  a 
particular  picture  of  a garden;  wherein  those 
great  masters,  being  wholly  uneonfined,  and 
painting  at  pleasure,  may  be  thought  to  have 
given  a full  idea  of  what  they  esteemed  most 
excellent  in  this  way.  These  (one  may  observe,) 
consist  entirely  of  the  useful  part  of  horticul- 
ture, fruit-trees,  herbs,  water,  &c.  The  pieces 
I am  speaking  of,  are  Virgil’s  account  of  the 
garden  of  the  old  Corycian,  and  Homer’s  of  that 
of  Alcinous.  The  first  of  these  is  already  known 
to  the  English  reader,  by  the  excellent  versions 
of  Mr.  Dryden  and  Mr.  Addison.  The  other 
having  never  been  attempted  in  our  language- 
with  any  elegance,  and  being  the  most  beautiful 
plan  of  this  sort  that  can  be  imagined,  I shall 
here  present  th.e  reader  with  a translation  of  iL 

The  Garden  of  Alcinous,  from  Homer's  Odyssey, 
Book  7.  , 

Close  to  the  {rates  a spacipus  garden  lies, 

From  storms  defended  and  inclement  skies; 

Four  acres  was  the  allotted  space  of  ground. 

Fenc’d  with  a green  inclosnre  all  around. 


‘ Blest  be  the  man  ! his  memory  at  least. 

Who  found  the  ait  thus  to  unfold  his  breast, 

And  taught  succeeding  times  an  easy  way 
Their  secret  thoughts  by  letters  to  convey  ; 

To  baffle  absence,  and  secure  delight, 

Which  till  that  time  was  limited  to  sight. 

The  parting  farewell  spoke,  the  last  adieu, 

The  iess’ning  distance  oast,  then  lost  to  view. 

The  friend  was  gone  which  some  kind  moments  gave, 
And  absence  separated,  like  the  grave. 

When  for  a wife  the  youthful  patriarch  sent. 

The  camels,  jewels,  and  the  steward  went. 


232 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


[No.  173. 


Tall  thriving  frees  confess  the  fruitful  mould ; 

The  redd’ning  apple  ripens  here  to  gold  ; 

Here  the  blue  fig  with  luscious  juice  o’erflows, 

With  deeper  red  the  full  pomegranate  glows: 

The  branch  here  bends  beneath  the  weighty  pear, 
And  verdant  olives  flourish  round  the  year. 

The  balmy  spirit  of  the  western  gale 
Eternal  breathes  on  fruits  untaught  to  fail : 

Each  dropping  pear  a following  pear  supplies, 

On  apples  apples,  figs  on  figs  arise  ; 

The  same  mild  season  gives  the  blooms  to  blow. 

The  buds  to  harden,  and  the  fruits  to  grow. 

Here  order’d  vines  in  equal  ranks  appear 
With  all  the  united  labours  of  the  year. 

Some  to  unload  the  fertile  branches  run. 

Some  dry  the  black’ning  clusters  in  the  sun. 

Others  to  tread  the  liquid  harvest  join. 

The  groaning  presses  foam  with  floods  of  wine. 

Here  are  the  vines  in  early  flow-’r  descry’d. 

Here  grapes  discolour’d  on  the  sunny  side, 

And  there  in  Autumn’s  richest  purple  dy’d. 

Bods  of  all  various  herbs  for  ever  green. 

In  beauteous  order  terminate  the  scene. 

Two  plenteous  fountains  the  whole  prospect  crown’d  ; 
This  through  the  gardens  leads  its  streams  around. 
Visits  each  plant,  and  waters  all  the  ground  ; 

While  that  in  pipes  beneath  the  palace  flows. 

And  thence  its  current  on  the  tow’n  bestow's ; 

To  various  use  their  various  streams  they  bring, 

The  people  one,  and  one  supplies  the  king. 

Sir  William  Temple  has  remarked,  that  this 
description  contains  all  the  justest  rules  and 
provisions  which  can  go  toward  composing  the 
best  gardens.  Its  extent  was  four  acres,  which 
in  those  times  of  simplicity  w’as  looked  upon  as 
a large  one,  even  for  a prince;  it  was  inclosed 
all  round  for  defence;  and  for  conveniency  join- 
ed close  to  the  gates  of  the  palace. 

He  mentions  next  the  trees,  which  were  stand- 
ards, and  suffered  to  grow  to  their  full  height. 
The  fine  description  of  the  fruits  that  never  fail- 
ed, and  the  eternal  zephyrs,  is  only  a more  no- 
ble  and  poetical  way  of  expressing  the  continual 
succession  of  one  fruit  after  another,  throughout 
the  year. 

The  vineyard  seems  to  have  been  a plantation 
distinct  from  the  garden ; as  also  the  beds  of 
greens  mentioned  afterw^ards  at  the  extremity 
of  the  inclosure,  in  the  nature  and  usual  place 
of  our  kitchen  gardens. 

The  two  fountains  are  disposed  very  remark- 
ably. They  rose  within  the  inclosure,  and  were 
brought  by  conduits,  or  ducts,  one  of  them  to 
water  all  parts  of  the  gardens,  and  the  other 
underneath  the  palace  into  the  town  for  the  ser- 
vice of  the  public. 

How  contrary  to  this  simplicity  is  the  modern 
practice  of  gardening!  We  seem  to  make  it  our 
study  to  recede  from  nature,  not  only  in  the  va- 
rious tonsure  of  greens  into  the  most  regular 
and  formal  shapes,  but  even  in  monstrous  at- 
tempts beyond  the  reach  of  the  art  itself.  We 
run  into  sculpture,  and  are  yet  better  pleased 
to  have  our  trees  in  the  most  awkward  figures 
of  men  and  animals,  than  in  the  most  regular 
of  their  own. 

‘ Hinc  et  ne.vilibus  vifleas  e frondibus  hortos, 

Implexos  late  muros,  et  mcenia  circum 
Ponigere,  et  latas  e ranriis  surgere  tunes; 

Heflexam  et  myrtum  in  pnppes,  atque  ®rea  rostra: 

In  tm.xi.sque  undare  fretum,  atque  c rore  rudentes. 
Parte  alia  frondere  suis  temoria  castris; 

Scutaque  spiculaque  et  jaculantia  citria  vallos.’ 

Here  interwoven  branches  form  a wall. 

And  from  the  livin?  fence  green  turrets  rise  ; 

Tliere  ship,'^  of  myrtle  sail  in  seas  of  box  ; 

A green  encampment  yonder  meets  the  eye. 

And  loaded  citrons  bearing  shields  and  speairs. 


I believe  it  is  no  wrong  observation,  that  per- 
sons of  genius,  and  those  who  are  most  capable 
of  art,  are  always  most  fond  of  nature  : as  such 
are  chiefly  sensible,  that  all  art  consists  in  the 
imitation  and  study  of  nature.  On  the  contrary, 
people  of  the  common  level  of  understanding 
are  principally  delighted  with  the  little  niceties 
and  fantastical  operations  of  art,  and  constantly 
think  that  finest  which  is  least  natural.  A citi- 
zen is  no  sooner  proprietor  of  a couple  of  yews, 
but  he  entertains  thoughts  of  erecting  them  into 
giants,  like  those  of  Guildhall.  I know  an  emi- 
nent cook,  who  beautified  his  country  seat  with 
a coronation  dinner  in  greens;  where  you  see 
the  champion  flourishing  on  horseback  at  one 
end  of  the  table,  and  the  queen  in  perpetual 
youth  at  the  other. 

For  the  benefit  of  all  my  loving  countrymen 
of  this  curious  taste,  I shall  here  publish  a ca- 
talogue of  greens  to  be  disposed  of  by  an  emi- 
nent town  gardener,  who  has  lately  applied  to 
me  upon  this  head.  He  represents,  that  for  the 
advancement  of  a politer  sort  of  ornament  in 
the  villas  and  gardens  adjacent  to  this  great 
city,  and  in  order  to  distinguish  those  places 
from  the  mere  barbarous  countries  of  gross  na- 
ture, the  world  stands  much  in  need  of  a virtu- 
oso gardener  who  has  a turn  to  sculpture,  and 
is  thereby  capable  of  improving  upon  the  an- 
cients of  his  profession  in  the  imagery  of  ever- 
greens. My  correspondent  is  arrived  to  such 
perfection,  that  he  cuts  family  pieces  of  men, 
women,  or  children.  Any  ladies  that  please  may 
have  their  own  effigies  in  myrtle,  or  their  hus- 
bands’ in  hornbeam.  He  is  a puritan  wag,  and 
never  fails  when  he  shows  his  garden,  to  repeat 
that  passage  in  the  Psalms,  ‘ Thy  wife  shall  be 
as  the  fruitful  vine,  and  thy  children  as  olive 
branches  round  thy  table.’  I shall  proceed  to 
his  catalogue,  as  he  sent  it  for  my  recommend- 
ation. 

‘ Adam  and  Eve  in  yew ; Adam  a little  shat- 
tered by  the  fall  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  in  the 
great  storm:  Eve  and  the  serpent  very  flou- 
rishing. 

‘ The  tower  of  Babel,  not  yet  finished. 

‘ St.  George  in  box ; his  arm  scarce  long 
enough,  but  will  be  in  a condition  to  stick  the 
dragon  by  next  April. 

‘ A green  dragon  of  the  same,  with  a tail  of 
ground-ivy  for  the  present. 

‘ N.  B.  These  two  not  to  be  sold  separately. 

‘ Edward  the  Black  Prince  in  cypress. 

‘ A laurestine  bear  in  blossom,  with  a juniper 
hunter  in  berries. 

‘ A pair  of  giants,  stunted,  to  be  sold  cheap. 

‘ A queen  Elizabeth  in  phylyrsea,  a little  in- 
clining to  the  green-sickness,  but  of  full  growth. 

‘ Another  queen  Elizabeth  in  myrtle,  which 
was  very  forward,  but  miscarried  by  being  too 
near  a savine. 

‘ An  old  maid  of  honour  in  wormwood. 

‘ A topping  Ben  Jonson  in  laurel. 

‘ Divers  eminent  modern  poets  in  bays,  some- 
what blighted,  to  be  disposed  of,  a pennyworth. 

‘ A quickset  hog,  shot  up  into  a porcupine,  by 
its  being  forgot  a week  in  rainy  weather. 

‘ A lavender  pig,  with  sage  growing  in  his 
belly. 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


233 


No.  174.] 

‘ Noah’s  ark  in  holly,  standing  on  the  mount; 
the  ribs  a little  damaged  for  want  of  water. 

‘ A pair  of  maidenheads  in  fir,  in  great  for- 
wardness.’ 


No.  174.]  Wednesday,  September  30,  1713. 

Salve  Psoniae  largitor  nobilis  undae. 

Salve  Dardanii  gloria  magna  soli : 

Publica  morboruin  requies,  commune  medentum 
Auxilium,  praesens  numen,  inempta  salus. 

Claud. 

Hail,  greatest  good  Dardanian  fields  bestow, 

At  whose  command  Paeonian  waters  flow, 
Unpurchased  health!  that  dost  thy  aid  impart 
Both  to  the  patient,  and  the  doctor’s  art  I 

In  public  assemblies  there  are  generally  some 
envious  splenetic  people,  who  having  no  merit 
to  procure  respect,  are  ever  finding  fault  with 
those  who  distinguish  themselves.  This  happens 
more  frequently  at  those  places,  where  this  sea- 
son of  the  year  calls  persons  of  both  sexes  to- 
gether for  their  health.  I have  had  reams  of 
letters  from  Bath,  Epsom,  Tunbridge,  and  St. 
Wenefrede’s  well;  wherein  I could  observe  that 
a concern  for  honour  and  virtue,  proceeded  from 
the  want  of  health,  beauty,  or  fine  petticoats. 
A lady  who  subscribes  herself  Eudosia,  writes 
a bitter  invective  against  Chloe,  the  celebrated 
dancer  ; but  I have  learned,  that  she  herself  is 
lame  of  the  rheumatism.  Another,  who  hath 
been  a prude  ever  since  she  had  the  small-pox, 
is  very  bitter  against  the  coquettes  and  their  in- 
decent airs  ; and  a sharp  wit  hath  sent  me  a 
keen  epigram  against  the  gamesters ; but  I took 
notice,  that  it  was  not  written  upon  gilt  paper. 

Having  had  several  strange  pieces  of  intelli- 
gence from  the  Bath ; as,  that  more  constitu- 
tions were  weakened  there  than  repaired  ; that 
the  physicians  were  not  more  busy  in  destroy- 
ing old  bodies,  than  the  young  fellows  in  pro- 
ducing new  ones  ; with  several  other  common- 
place strokes  of  raillery  ; I resolved  to  look  upon 
the  company  there,  as  I returned  lately  out  of 
the  country.  It  was  a great  jest  to  see  such  a 
grave  ancient  person  as  I am,  in  an  embroider- 
ed cap  and  brocade  night-gown.  But,  besides 
the  necessity  of  complying  with  the  custom,  by 
these  means  I passed  undiscovered,  and  had  a 
pleasure  I much  covet,  of  being  alone  in  a 
crowd.  It  was  no  little  satisfaction  to  me, 
to  view  the  mixed  mass  of  all  ages  and  dig- 
nities upon  a level,  partaking  of  the  same  bene- 
fits of  nature,  and  mingling  in  the  same  diver- 
sions. I sometimes  entertained  myself  by  ob- 
serving what  a large  quantity  of  ground  was 
hid  under  spreading  petticoats  ; and  what  little 
patches  of  earth  were  covered  by  creatures  with 
wigs  and  hats,  in  comparison  to  those  spaces 
that  were  distinguished  by  flounces,  fringes,  and 
furbelows.  From  the  earth  my  fancy  was  di- 
verted to  the  water,  where  the  distinctions  of 
sex  and  condition  are  concealed  ; and  where  the 
mixture  of  men  and  women  hath  given  occasion 
to  some  f>ersons  of  light  imaginations,  to  com- 
pare the  Bath  to  the  fountain  of  Salmacis,  which 
had  the  virtue  of  joining  the  two  sexes  into  one 
person  ; or  to  the  stream  wherein  Diana  washed 
herself  when  she  bestowed  horns  on  Actaeon  ; 
2 G 


but  by  one  of  a serious  turn,  these  healthful 
springs  may  rather  be  likened  to  the  Stygian 
waters,  which  made  the  body  invulnerable ; or 
to  the  river  of  Lethe,  one  draught  of  which 
washed  away  all  pain  and  anguish  in  a moment. 

As  I have  taken  upon  me  a name  which  ought 
to  abound  in  humanity,  I shall  make  it  my  bu- 
siness, in  this  paper,  to  cool  and  assuage  those 
malignant  humours  of  scandal  which  run 
throughout  the  body  of  men  and  women  there 
assembled;  and  after  the  manner  of  those  fa- 
mous waters,  I will  endeavour  to  wipe  away  all 
foul  aspersions,  to  restore  bloom  and  vigour  to 
decayed  reputations,  and  set  injured  characters 
upon  their  legs  again.  I shall  herein  regulate 
myself  by  the  example  of  that  good  man,  who 
used  to  talk  with  charity  of  the  greatest  villains ; 
nor  was  ever  heard  to  speak  with  rigour  of  any 
one,  until  he  affirmed  with  severity  that  Nero 
was  a wag. 

Having  thus  prepared  thee,  gentle  reader,  I 
shall  not  scruple  to  entertain  thee  with  a pane- 
gyric upon  the  gamesters.  I have  indeed  spoken 
incautiously  heretofore  of  that  class  of  men  ; but 
I should  forfeit  all  titles  to  modesty,  should  I 
any  longer  oppose  the  common  sense  of  the  no- 
bility and  gentry  of  the  kingdom.  Were  we 
to  treat  all  those  with  contempt,  who  are  the 
favourites  of  blind  chance,  few  levees  would  be 
crowded.  It  is  not  the  height  of  sphere  in 
which  a man  moves,  but  the  manner  in  which 
he  acts,  that  makes  him  truly  valuable.  When 
therefore  I see  a gentleman  lose  his  money  with 
serenity,  I recognize  in  him  all  the  great  quali- 
ties of  a philosopher. 

If  he  storms,  and  invokes  the  gods,  I lament 
that  he  is  not  placed  at  the  head  of  a regiment. 
The  great  gravity  of  the  countenances  round 
Harrison’s  table,  put  me  in  mind  of  a council 
board  ; and  the  indefatigable  application  of  the 
several  combatants  furnishes  me  with  an  unan- 
swerable reply  to  those  gloomy  mortals,  who 
censure  this  as  an  idle  life.  In  short,  I cannot 
see  any  reason  why  gentlemen  should  be  hin- 
dered from  raising  a fortune  by  those  means, 
which  at  the  same  time  enlarge  their  minds. 
Nor  shall  I speak  dishonourably  of  some  little 
artifice  and  finesse  used  upon  these  occasions ; 
since  the  world  is  so  just  to  any  man  who  is 
become  a possessor  of  wealth,  as  not  to  respect 
him  the  less,  for  the  methods  he  took  to  come 
by  it. 

Upon  considerations  like  these,  the  ladies 
share  in  these  diversions.  I must  own,  that  I 
receive  great  pleasure  in  seeing  my  pretty  co^- 
trywomen  engaged  in  an  amusement  which 
puts  them  upon  producing  so  many  virtues. 
Hereby  they  acquire  such  a boldness,  as  raises 
them  near  the  lordly  creature  man.  Here  they 
are  taught  such  contempt  of  wealth,  as  may  di- 
late their  minds,  and  prevent  many  curtain  lec- 
tures. Their  natural  tenderness  is  a weakness 
here  easily  unlearned ; and  I find  my  soul  ex- 
alted, when  I see  a lady  sacrifice  the  fortune  of 
her  children  with  as  little  concern  as  a Spartan 
or  a Roman  dame.  In  such  a place  as  the  Bath 
I might  urge,  that  the  casting  of  a die  is  indeed 
the  properest  exercise  for  a fair  creature  to  m- 
sist  the  waters  ; not  to  mention  the  opportunity 
it  ffives  to  display  the  well-turned  arm,  and  to 
20* 


231 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


scatter  to  advantage  the  rays  of  the  diamond. 
But  I am  satisfied,  that  the  gamester  ladies 
have  surmounted  the  little  vanities  of  showing 
their  beauty,  which  they  so  far  neglect,  as  to 
throw  their  features  into  violent  distortions,  and 
wear  away  their  lilies  and  roses  in  tedious 
watching,  and  restless  lucubrations.  I should 
rather  observe  that  their  chief  passion  is  an 
emulation  of  manhood ; which  I am  the  more 
inclined  to  believe,  because,  in  spite  of  all  slan- 
ders, their  confidence  in  their  virtue  keeps  them 
up  all  night,  with  the  most  dangerous  creatures 
of  our  sex.  It  is  to  me  an  undoubted  argument 
of  their  ease  of  conscience,  that  they  go  directly 
from  church  to  the  gaming-table  ; and  so  highly 
reverence  play,  as  to  mak^e  it  a great  part  of 
the.r  exercise  on  Sundays. 

The  water  poets  are  an  innocent  tribe,  and 
deserve  all  the  encouragement  I can  give  them. 
It  would  be  barbarous  to  treat  those  authors 
with  bitterness,  who  never  write  out  of  the  sea- 
son, and  whose  works  are  useful  with  the  waters. 
I made  it  my  care,  therefore,  to  sweeten  some 
sour  critics  who  were  sharp  upon  a few  sonnets, 
which,  to  speak  in  the  language  of  the  Bath, 
were  mere  alkalies.  I took  particular  notice  of 
a lenitive  electuary,  which  was  wrapped  up  in 
some  of  these  gentle  compositions ; and  am  per- 
suaded that  the  pretty  one  who  took  it,  was  as 
much  relieved  by  the  cover  as  the  medicine. 
There  are  a hundred  general  topics  put  into 
metre  every  year,  viz  : ‘ The  lover  is  inflamed 
in  the  water ; or,  he  finds  his  death  where  he 
sought  his  cure;  or,  the  nymph  feels  her  own 
pain,  without  regarding  her  lover’s  torment.’ 
These  being  for  ever  repeated,  have  at  present 
a very  good  effect ; and  a physician  assures  me, 
that  laudanum  is  almost  out  of  doors  at  the 
Bath. 

The  physicians  here  are  very  numerous,  but 
very  good-natured.  To  these  charitable  gentle- 
men I owe,  that  I was  cured,  in  a week’s  time, 
of  more  distempers  than  I ever  had  in  my  life. 
They  had  almost  killed  me  with  their  humanity. 
A learned  fellow-lodger  prescribed  me  a little 
something,  at  my  first  coming,  to  keep  up  my 
spirits;  and  the  next  morning  I was  so  much 
enlivened  by  anotlier,  as  to  have  an  order  to 
bleed  for  my  fever.  I was  proffered  a cure  for 
the  scurvy  by  a third,  and  had  a recipe  for  the 
dropsy  gratis  before  night.  In  vain  did  I mo- 
destly decline  these  favours;  for  I was  awakened 
early  in  the  morning  by  an  apothecary,  who 
brought  me  a dose  from  one  of  my  well-wishers. 
I paid  him,  but  withal  told  him  severely,  that  I 
never  took  physic.  My  landlord  hereupon  took 
me  for  an  Italian  merchant  that  suspected  poi- 
son; but  the  apothecary,  with  more  sagacity, 
guessed  that  I was  certainly  a physician  my- 
self. 

The  oppression  of  civilities  which  I under- 
went from  the  sage  gentlemen  of  the  faculty, 
frightened  me  from  making  such  inquiries  into 
the  nature  of  these  springs,  as  would  have  fur- 
nished out  a nobler  entertainment  upon  the 
Bath,  than  the  loose  hints  I have  now  thrown 
together.  Every  man  who  hath  received  any 
benefit  there,  ought,  in  proportion  to  his  abili- 
ties, to  improve,  adorn,  or  recommend  it.  A 
prince  should  found  hospitals,  the  noble  and  rich 


[No.  175. 

may  diffuse  their  ample  charities.  Mr.  Tom 
pion  gave  a clock  to  the  Bath ; and  I,  Nestor 
Ironside,  have  dedicated  a Guardian. 


No.  175.]  Thursday^  October  1,  1713. 

Quique  sui  memores  alios  fecere  merendo. 

Virg.  iEn.  vi.  664. 

Who  rais’d  by  merit  an  immortal  name. 

The  noble  genius  of  Virgil  would  have  been 
exalted  still  higher,  had  he  had  the  advantage 
of  Christianity.  According  to  our  scheme  of 
thoughts,  if  the  word  memores  in  the  front  of 
this  paper  were  changed  into  similes^  it  would 
have  very  much  heightened  the  motive  to  virtue 
in  the  reader.  To  do  good  and  great  actions 
merely  to  gain  reputation,  and  transmit  a name 
to  posterity,  is  a vicious  appetite,  and  will  cer- 
tainly ensnare  the  person  who  is  moved  by  it, 
on  some  occasions,  into  a false  delicacy  for  fear 
of  reproach  ; and  at  others,  into  artifices  which 
taint  his  mind,  though  they  may  enlarge  his 
fame.  The  endeavour  to  make  men  like  you, 
rather  than  mindful  of  you,  is  not  subject  to 
such  ill  consequences,  but  moves  with  its  re- 
ward in  its  own  hand  ; or  to  speak  more  in  the 
language  of  the  world,  a man  with  this  aim  is 
as  happy  as  a man  in  an  office,  that  is  paid  out 
of  money  under  his  own  direction.  There  have 
been  very  worthy  examples  of  this  self-denying 
virtue  among  us  in  this  nation ; but  I do  not 
know  of  a nobler  example  in  this  taste,  than 
that  of  the  late  Mr.  Boyle,  who  founded  a lec- 
ture for  the  ‘ Proof  of  the  Christian  religion, 
against  atheists,  and  other  notorious  infidels.’ 
The  reward  of  perpetual  memory  amongst  men, 
which  might  possibly  have  some  share  in  this 
sublime  charity,  was  certainly  considered  but 
in  a second  degree ; and  Mr.  Boyle  had  it  in 
his  thoughts  to  make  men  imitate  him  as  well 
as  speak  of  him,  when  he  was  gone  off  our  stage. 

The  world  has  received  much  good  from  this 
institution,  and  the  noble  emulation  of  great 
men  on  the  inexhaustible  subject  of  the  essence, 
praise,  and  attributes  of  the  Deity,  has  had  the 
natural  effect,  which  always  attends  this  kind 
of  contemplation  : to  wit,  that  he  who  writes 
upon  it  v/ith  a sincere  heart,  very  eminently 
excels  whatever  he  has  produeed  on  any  other 
occasion.  It  eminently  appears  from  this  ob- 
servation, that  a particular  blessing  has  been 
bestowed  on  this  lecture.  This  great  philoso- 
pher provided  for  us,  after  his  death,  an  employ- 
ment not  only  suitable  to  our  condition,  but  to 
his  own  at  the  same  time.  It  is  a sight  fit  for 
angels,  to  behold  the  benefactor  and  the  persons 
obliged,  not  only  in  different  places,  but  under 
different  beings,  employed  in  the  same  work. 

This  worthy  man  studied  nature,  and  traced 
all  her  ways  to  those  of  her  unsearchable  au- 
thor. When  he  had  found  him,  he  gave  this 
bounty  for  the  praise  and  contemplation  of  him. 
To  one  who  has  not  run  through  regular  courses 
of  philosophical  inquiries  (the  other  learned 
labourers  in  this  vineyard  will  forgive  me,)  I 
cannot  but  principally  recommend  the  book, 
intitled,  Phisico-Theology  : printed  for  William 
Innys,  in  St.  Paul’s  church-yard. 


No.  175.] 


THE  GUARDIAN. 


235 


It  is  written  by  Mr.  Derham,  rector  of  Up- 
minster,  in  Essex.  I do  not  know  what  Up- 
minster  is  worth  ; but  I am  sure,  had  I the  best 
living  in  England  to  give,  I should  not  think 
the  addition  of  it  sufficient  acknowledgment 
of  his  merit ; especially  since  I am  informed, 
that  the  simplicity  of  his  life  is  agreeable  to  his 
useful  knowledge  and  learning. 

The  praise  of  this  author  seems  to  me  to  be 
the  great  perspicuity  and  method  which  render 
his  work  intelligible  and  pleasing  to  people  who 
are  strangers  to  such  inquiries,  as  well  as  to  the 
learned.  It  is  a very  desirable  entertainment 
to  find  occasions  of  pleasure  and  satisfaction  in 
those  objects  and  occurrences  which  we  have 
all  our  lives,  perhaps,  overlooked ; or  beheld 
without  exciting  any  reflections  that  made  us 
wiser,  or  happier.  The  plain  good  man  does, 
as  with  a wand,  show  us  the  wonders  and  spec- 
tacles in  all  nature,  and  the  particular  capaci- 
ties with  which  all  living  creatures  are  endowed 
for  their  several  ways  of  life  ; how  the  organs 
of  creatures  are  made  according  to  the  differ- 
ent paths  in  which  they  are  to  move  and  pro- 
vide for  themselves  and  families  ; whether  they 
are  to  creep,  to  leap,  to  swim,  to  fly,  to  walk ; 
whether  they  are  to  inhabit  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  the  coverts  of  the  wood,  the  muddy  or 
clear  streams ; to  howl  in  forests,  or  converse  in 
cities.  All  life  from  that  of  a worm  to  that  of 
a man  is  explained  ; and,  if  I may  so  speak, 
the  wondrous  works  of  the  creation,  by  the  ob- 
servations of  this  amthor,  lie  before  us  as  objects 
that  create  love  and  admiration ; which,  with- 
out such  explications,  strike  us  only  with  con- 
fusion and  amazement. 

The  man  who,  before  he  had  this  book,  dressed 
and  went  out  to  loiter  and  gather  up  something 
to  entertain  a mind  too  vacant,  no  longer  needs 
news  to  give  himself  amusement ; the  very  air 
he  breathes  suggests  abundant  matter  for  his 
thoughts.  He  will  consider  that  he  has  begun 
another  day  of  life,  to  brcatlie  with  all  other 


creatures  in  the  same  mass  of  air,  vapours,  and 
clouds,  which  surround  our  globe  ; and  of  all 
the  numberless  animals  that  live  by  receiving 
momentary  life,  or  rather  momentary  and  new 
reprieves  from  death,  at  their  nostrils,  he  only 
stands  erect,  conscious  and  contemplative  of  the 
benefaction. 

A man  who  is  not  capable  of  philosophical 
reflections  from  his  own  education,  will  be  as 
much  pleased  as  with  any  other  good  news 
which  he  has  not  before  heard.  The  agitations 
of  the  wind,  and  the  falling  of  the  rains,  are 
what  are  absolutely  necessary  for  his  welfare 
and  accommodation.  This  kind  of  reader  will 
behold  the  light  with  a new  joy,  and  a sort  of 
reasonable  rapture.  He  will  be  led  from  the 
appendages  which  attend  and  surround  our 
globe,  to  the  contemplation  of  the  globe  itself, 
the  distribution  of  the  earth  and  waters,  the  va- 
riety and  quantity  of  all  things  provided  for  the 
uses  of  our  world.  Then  will  his  contemplation, 
which  was  too  diffused  and  general,  be  let  down 
to  particulars,  to  different  soils  and  moulds,  to 
the  beds  of  minerals  and  stones,  into  caverns  and 
volcanos,  and  then  again  to  the  tops  of  moun- 
tains, and  then  again  to  the  fields  and  valleys. 

When  the  author  has  acquainted  his  reader 
with  the  place  of  his  abode  ; he  informs  him  of 
his  capacity  to  make  himself  easy  and  happy 
in  it  by  the  gift  of  senses,  by  their  ready  organs, 
by  showing  him  the  structure  of  those  organs, 
the  disposition  of  the  ear  for  the  receipt  of 
sounds,  of  the  nostril  for  smell,  the  tongue  for 
taste,  the  nerves  to  avoid  harms  by  our  feeling, 
and  the  eye  by  our  sight. 

The  whole  work  is  concluded  (as  it  is  the 
sum  of  fifteen  sermons  in  proof  of  the  existence 
of  the  Deity)  with  reflections  which  apply  each 
distinct  part  of  it  to  an  end,  for  which  the  au- 
thor may  hope  to  be  rewarded  with  an  immor- 
tality  much  more  to  be  desired,  than  that  of  re- 
maining in  eternal  honour  among  all  the  sons 
of  men. 


INDEX. 


No. 

Academy,  what  a youth  first  learns  there  . 24 
Active  men,  compared  with  speculative  . .130 

Acts,  public,  at  Oxford,  two  great  reasons  against 

them 96 

Adam,  his  vision  of  souls 138 

Adamites,  a sect  so  called 134 

Age,  if  healthy,  happy 26 

Dwells  upon  past  times 5 

Aguire,  his  story,  an  instance  of  the  spirit  of 

revenge  8 

Airs,  the  penman,  his  vanity  ....  1 

Alcibiades,  his  character,  and  soliloquy  before 

an  engagement 31 

Alcinous,  his  gardens  described,  from  Homer  . 173 

Alehouse-keeper,  an  elegant  one,  on  Hampstead 
Road  ........  144 

Alexander,  a letter  from  him  to  Aristotle  . .Ill 

Allegories,  directions  for  using  them  . .152 

Alnareschin,  king  of  Persia,  his  story  . . 167 

Alonzo,  don,  a fatal  instance  of  the  effects  of 

jealousy 37 

Alphonso,  his  story  from  Strada’s  Lucan  . .119 

Aminta,  of  Tasso,  compared  wdth  Guarini’s 

Pastor  Fido 28 

Anacreon,  his  instructions  to  a painter  for  paint- 
ing his  mistress 168 

Anaximander,  a saying  of  his,  on  being  laughed 

at  for  singing 135 

Ancestors,  their  examples  should  excite  to  great 
and  virtuous  actions  . • . . . 137 

Ancestry,  how  far  to  be  venerated  . . .137 

Renders  the  good  only  illustrious  . . . 123 

Ridiculous  for  a man  to  value  himself  upon  it  137 
Ancients,  crying  them  up  reproved  . . .25 

All  that  is  good  in  writing  not  borrowed  from 
them  . . ....  12 

Distinguished  by  Strada  . . . 119 

Androcles,  story  of  him  and  the  lion . . .139 

Anger  defined 129 

Animals,  a degree  of  gratitude  owing  to  them 

that  serve  us 61 

Cruelty  towards  them  condemned  . . 61 

Anne  Bullen,  tragedy  of,  a scene  of  distress 

therein 19 

Annihilation,  by  whom  desired  . . . .89 

Ants,  natural  history  of  them  . . 128,  156,  157 

Apothecary,  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  described  . 82 

Arcadian,  the  true  character  of  one  . . .23 

Art,  those  most  capable  of  it,  always  fond  of 

nature 173 

Artificers,  capital,  a petition  from  them  . . 64 

Aspasia,  a most  excellent  woman  . . . 2,  5 

Asphaltites,  lake  of,  a discourse  thereon  . . 60 

Astronomy,  the  study  of,  recommended  . . 70 

Atalantis,  the  author  of,  to  whom  akin  . . 107 

Athalia,  of  Racine,  part  of  it  sublime  . .117 

Atheism  more  grievous  than  religion  . . 93 

Atheist,  behaviour  of  one  in  sickness  . . 39 

Athenais,  a Grecian  virgin,  married  to  the  empe- 
ror Theodosius  . . . . . . 155 

Attraction  of  bodies  applied  to  minds  . .126 

Augustus  Caesar,  Virgil’s  praises  of  him  . . 138 

Aureng  Zebe,  tragedy  of,  wherein  faulty  . .110 

Author,  account  of  one  raising  contributions  . 58 

Bacon,  sir  Francis,  remarks  on  the  style  of  his 
history  of  Henry  VII 25 


No. 

Barbers,  inconveniences  attending  their  being 

historians 50 

Bareface,  Will,  desires  one  of  Lady  Lizard’s 

daughters  for  a wife 38 

Barsisa,  santon,  his  story  from  the  Turkish  Tales  148 
■ “ .50 

. 174 
. 17 
. 61 
. 10 
. 62 
. 85 
. 152 
. 85 


Bath,  Wife  of,  a comedy,  characterised 

Customs  of  that  place 

Bawd,  a mother  so,  to  her  own  daughter  . 
Bear-baiting,  a barbarous  custom 
Beau,  an  academical  one  described  . 

A species  to  be  commiserated 
Beauty,  inconvenience  attending  it  . 

At  war  with  Fortitude 

Imperfect,  described  by  Prior 
Benevolence,  the  seeds  of  it  implanted  in  the 

human  soul 126 

Betty,  miss,  her  history 159 

Beveridge,  bishop,  a sublime  passage  quoted 
from  his  works  . . ...  74 

Bicknell,  Mrs.  a comedian  commended  . . 50 

F urnished  with  a dress  from  the  wardrobe  of 

the  Lizards 50 

Bias,  his  way  of  silencing  calumny  . . . 135 

Binicorn,  Humphrey,  his  proposal  for  printing  a 

dissertation  on  horns 124 

Birds,  their  examples  proposed  to  imitation  . 125 
Observations  on  their  conjugal  and  parental 

affections 125 

Blanket,  when  that  discipline  is  necessary  . 74 

Blood,  by  what  tainted 137 

Bodkin,  Timothy,  his  letter  concerning  short 

swords 145 

Boileau,  a French  critic,  his  account  of  the 
sublime  ...  ...  117 

Books,  an  odd  collection  of  them  . . .60 

Bosoms,  naked,  a great  grievance  . . .116 

The  pope’s  order  against  them  . . .116 

Boys,  their  delights  cheap  and  innocent  . . 62 

Bribery,  none  in  a present  of  liquor  . . . 160 

Bruce,  lord,  his  challenge  to,  and  duel  with  sir 
Edward  Sackville  ....  129,  133 
Bubnelia,  angry  about  the  tucker  . . . 109 


Building,  errors  in  imdertaking  it  . . . 

Burial  service,  solemn  and  moving  . 

Button,  Daniel,  his  letter  in  praise  of  his  own 

coffee-house 

Button-twisting,  not  eloquent  .... 


Calamities,  the  general  source  of  them  . . 1 

Calumny,  nothing  so  hard  for  a generous  mind 

to  get  over 135 

How  silenced  by  philosophers  . . .135 

Cambray,  Fenelon,  archbishop  of,  account  of  his 
Treatise  of  the  Existence,  Wisdom,  and 

Omnipotence  of  God 69 

Cause  of  his  disgrace 48 

Cardan,  the  philosopher,  what  he  says  of  the 

affection  of  love 7 

Care,  Dorothy,  complains  of  men’s  open  bosoms  171 

Cato,  tragedy  of,  commended  ...  33,  43 

Beautiful  similes  in  that  tragedy  . . ,64 

Prologue  and  Epilogue  thereto  . . .33 

Chaplains  to  persons  of  quality  ought  to  be  re- 
spected ...  ...  162 

Charity,  a virtue  of  the  heart  ....  166 
A signal  proof  of  the  divinity  of  the  Christian 

religion 126 

237 


238 


INDEX. 


No. 

Charity  intended  by  Nestor  Ironside,  Esq.  . 166 

Schools  recommended 10.5 

Charwell,  Mr.  his  character  ....  9 

His  purchase  and  improvement  of  an  estate, 

&c . . 9 

Borrowed  many  of  his  maxims  from  monsieur 
Colbert  . . . . . » .52 

Chastity,  the  noblest  male  qualification  . . 45 

China,  emperor  of,  honours  none  till  after  death  96 
Chryso-magnet,or  the  load-stone  which  attracts 

gold,  described  by  Strada  . . . 122 

Church,  Christian,  tlie  divine  order  and  economy 
thereof  compared  to  the  fabric  of  St.  Paul’s  70 

The  word  misapplied 80 

Wherein  the  word  wants  explanation  . . 80 

Clarina,  a young  lady  unhappy  by  her  beauty  . 85 

Classics,  absolutely  necessary  to  study  them  . 86 

Claudian,  Strada’s 115,  119 

His  court  of  Venus 127 

Pluto’s  speech  to  Proserpine,  from  him  . . 164 

Cleomenes,  a tragedy  by  Dryden,  wherein  faulty  110 
Clergymen,  respect  due  to  them  ...  3 

The  end  they  should  propose  to  themselves  . 13 

Abused 80 

Considered  as  philosophers  . . . .130 

Climate,  British,  very  inconstant  . . . 102 

Clown,  character  of  an  impudent  one  . . 162 

Club,  of  little  men 91 

Short 91 

Silent 120 

Tall 108 

Terrible 118 

Coach,  an  intrigue  carried  on  by  means  of  one  14 
Coaches,  young  men  reproved  for  driving  them  14 
Cock-fighting,  a barbarous  custom  . . .61 

Colbert,  Monsieur,  his  conversation  with  the 
French  king  concerning  the  great  power  of 

the  Dutch 52 

Cold  bath,  recommended 102 

Colleges,  chiefly  erected  on  religious  considera- 
tions   62 

Comet,  a remarkable  one  in  1680  described  . 103 
Commandments,  were  made  for  the  vulgar  . 27 

Common  fame,  vision  of 67 

Complaisance,  useful  in  conversation  to  make 

it  agreeable  . . . . . .162 

Congreve,  Mr.  characters  drawn  by  him  . 85,  115 

Conscience,  is  to  the  soul,  what  health  is  to  the 

body 135 

The  efficacy  and  force  of,  in  the  hour  of  death  135 
A good  one,  the  only  relief  against  the  pain 

of  calumny 135 

Conversation,  one  of  the  noblest  privileges  of 

reason 24 

Rules  for  it 24 

Coquette,  how'  she  should  paint  herself  . . 140 

Countrymen,  meeting  abroad,  their  familiarity  . 126 

Country  life,  the  charms  and  pleasures  of  it  . 22 

Country,  why  we  are  pleased  with  it  . .22 

Courtship,  the  extravagance  of  it  described  . 113 

Covetousness,  precautions  against  it . . .19 

The  vice  of,  enters  deeper  into  the  soul  than 

any  other  ' 19 

Cowards  never  forgive 20 

Cowley,  Mr.  criticism  on  his  songs  . . .16 

Coxcomb  at  the  head  of  a family  a melancholy 
thing  . . . . . . . . 165 

Crabtree,  Major,  his  sour  sayings  to  the  ladies  . 26 

Crassus,  an  old  lethargic  valetudinarian  . . 102 

Creation,  works  of,  the  divine  consideration  of 
them  ....  ...  175 

Critics,  false 12,  16 

Wherein  they  differ  from  cavillers  . .110 

The  severity  of  one  on  the  fireworks  on  the 

Thames 103 

The  characters  and  marks  of  an  ill  one  by  Mr. 

Congreve 115 

Criticism  on  song-writing 16 

On  several  plays  of  Dryden’s  and  Lee’s  . 110 


No 

Cromwell,  Oliver,  what  monsieur  Paschal  says 

of  his  death 136 

Cunning  opposed  to  wisdom  ....  152 

Cupid  with  eyes 127 

Customs,  barbarous  in  England,  account  of  them  61 

Cyrus,  his  heroic  cliastity 61 

Cyr,  Saint,  account  of  that  monastery  founded 

by  madam  Mainlenon  . . . .48 

D^DALUS,  his  letter  about  flying  . . .112 

Damo,  a daughter  of  Pythagoras,  to  whom  he 

left  his  writings 165 

David,  king,  the  beauty  of  his  lamentations  for 

Jonathan 51 

A rabbinical  story  concerning  him  . .138 

Davigne,  hlessrs.  father  and  grandfather  of 

madam  Maintenon,  their  story  . . .46 

Davis,  Sir  George,  his  adventure  with  a lion  . 146 
Dead  men,  only,  have  honours  in  China  . . 96 

Death,  means  to  make  the  thoughts  thereof  the 

sweetest  enjoyment 18 

An  infirmity  not  to  desire  it  . . . .20 

The  hope  of  good  men  in  it  . . . . 169 

Compared  to  Proteus 136 

Whence  the  abhorrence  of  it  proceeds  . . 169 

Dedications,  the  abuse  of  them  ...  4 

Dedication  of  an  author  to  himself  ...  4 

Defamation,  the  art  of  it  discovered  . . . 170 

Definition  of  words  necessary  . . . .80 

Denham,  sir  John,  his  directions  for  translating  164 
Derham,  Mr.  his  book  of  Physico-Theology  com- 
mended   175 

Des  Cartes,  discovered  the  pineal  gland  in  the 

brain 37 

Detraction,  too  easily  given  in  to  by  the  ladies  85 
Devotion,  early  hours  of,  the  advantages  of  it  . 65 
Dewlap,  Dick,  well  made  for  a jester  . . 42 

Diaper,  James,  his  letter  recommending  Tom’s 

coffee-house  for  politeness  of  conversation  . 92 
Diogenes,  a severe  saying  of  his  to  one  that 

slandered  him 135 

His  opinion  concerning  the  poor  and  rich  . 94 
Distress,  a scene  of  it  in  the  tragedy  of  Anne 

Bullen 19 

Imaginary,  the  greatest  part  of  man’s  affliction  162 
Ditton  and  Whiston,  their  letter  concerning  the 

longitude 107 

Donne,  Dr.  a criticism  on  his  songs  . . .16 

Dream,  concerning  Reproof  and  Reproach  . 56 

Of  a window  in  Aurelia’s  breast  . . . 106 

Concerning  death 136 

Of  the  future  punishment  of  the  idle  . .158 

Dress,  the  greatest  motive  to  love  . . .81 

Not  to  be  too  much  valued  or  despised  • 10 
Genius  discovered  therein  ....  149 

Compared  to  poetry 149 

Druids,  held  the  doctrine  of  transmigration  of 

souls 18 

Verses  from  Lucan  on  that  subject  . .18 

Drunkenness,  a deforming  foolish  intemperance  56 

Dryden,  John,  moral  verses  from  his  translation 

of  Juvenal * 

A saying  of  his,  recommending  chastity  in 

men 45 

Faulty  in  his  sentiments  . . . 110 

Duels,  the  danger  of  dying  in  one,  represented  20 

Proceed  from  false  honour  . . . .133 

Ought  to  be  abolished 129 

Dump,  Goody,  her  letter  complaining  of  a sullen 
husband  . . . . . • • 132 

Dunkirk,  animadversions  concerning  demolish- 
ing it • 128, 131 

D’Urfey,  Thomas,  the  lyric  poet,  his  merit,  and 

odes 67 

Compared  with  Pindar  . . • . .67 

The  world  ungrateful  to  him  . . .29 

His  play  of  the  Plotting  Sisters  recommended  82 
Dutch,  their  advantages  over  the  French  . . 52 

Not  subject  to  the  spleen  ....  131 


INDEX. 


239 


No. 


Earring,  Nicholas,  Esq.  his  letter  concerning  a 

scolding  wife 

Earth,  its  inhabitants  ranged  under  two  general 

heads  

Ease,  loved  by  all  men 
In  writing,  what  it  is 
An  instance  of  it  in  love  verses 
Eclogue,  meaning  of  that  word 
Education,  various  errors  therein 
Eliza,  the  cliaracter  of  a good  mother 
Enemies,  love  of  them  not  constitutional 
English,  famous  for  oddities 
Epic  poem,  rules  concerning  it  . 

Receipt  to  make  one 

Epictetus,  his  saying  concerning  censure 
Epigram,  a French  one,  miscalled  a song 
Epilogue  to  Cato,  by  Dr.  Garth  . 

Equality  in  the  happiness  and  misery  of  men  . 
Eusden,  Reverend  Mr.  translations  of  his  from 

Claudian 127,  164 

Eve,  her  treating  of  an  angel  described  by 

Milton 

Her  innocence  to  be  imitated,  not  her  naked- 
ness   

Eveites,  women  so  called,  and  why  . 

Evergreen,  Anthony,  his  collection  of  fig-leaves 

lor  the  ladies 

Examination,  self,  advantages  attending  it 
Examiner,  author  of,  reproved  for  insolence,  ill- 
manners,  and  scandal  .... 
Misapplies  the  word  Church,  and  abuses  the 
clergy,  lords,  and  commons 
Letters  concerning  him  . . . . 53, 63 

An  advocate  for  a lady  who  was  said  not  to 
be  lain  with  .... 

His  insolence  to  a bishop  of  the  church  of 
England  ...  ... 

Writes  in  defence  of  popery  .... 

His  knack  at  finding  out  treason  in  words  . 

Has  no  talent  for  panegyric  .... 
Example,  influence  thereof  .... 


132 

1.30 
22 
»,  15 

15 
28 
94 

150 

20 

55 

12 

78 

135 

16 
33 
54 


138 


100 

140 


100 

158 


41 
. 80 


. 63 

90 

90 

160 

170 

5 


Fable,  of  Pilpay,  on  the  usage  of  animals  . 61 

Fame,  common,  house  of,  described  . . . 66 

Family,  head  of,  dangerous  when  had  . . 165 

Mistress  of,  a good  one  described,  from  the 

book  of  Proverbs 168 

Fantastical  pleasures,  what  they  are  . . 49 

Fear  of  God,  all  true  fortitude  founded  on  it  .117 

Feet,  pretty  ones,  a letter  coticerning  them  . 132 

Figleaf,  Leonilla,  her  letter  concerning  modesty- 

pieces  118 

Fine  gentleman,  what  qualifications  form  one  in 

the  eye  of  the  ladies 34 

Character  of  a complete  one  . . . .34 

Fireworks  on  the  Thames,  description  of 

them 103 

A fine  one  described  by  Strada  . . . 103 

Flattery,  a satire  against  it  . . . .11 

Grateful  to  human  nature  ....  135 
Flies  and  free-liiinkers  compared  . . .70 

Florrella,  angry  about  the  tucker  . . . 109 

Flying,  a humour  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the 

Second  112. 

Fontainbleau,  palace  of,  described  . . . 101 

Fool  man,  too  fat  for  his  master  . . . .54 

Foresight,  Frank,  his  good  conduct  on  his 

marriage 147 

Fornication,  a criticism  thereon  . . .17 

Fortitude  founded  on  the  fear  of  God  . .117 

At  war  with  beauty 152 

Foundling  hospitals,  wherein  useful . . . 105 

France,  the  founlaiu  of  dress  ....  149 

Temperance  of  the  climate  ....  104 

Court  of 101 

A tour  thither 104 

Freethinkers,  unthinking  wretches  . . .62 

Tiie  name  degenerated  from  the  original 
meaning  .....  .39 


No. 

Freethinkers,  considerations  offered  to  them  on 

the  being  of  a God 88 

Contribute  to  idolatry 88 

Their  absurdities  and  hateful  characters  . 169 

No  friends  to  liberty 83 

Condemned  for  affecting  singularity  . . 89 

Accuse  the  Christian  religion  as  defective  in 

friendship 126 

Like  the  Jewish  Sadducees,  considered  as 
automata  . , . . , . .130 

Freethinking,  discourse  on,  answered  . . 3 

French  king,  Lewis  XIV.  his  conversation  with 
Colbert  concerning  the  great  power  of  the 

Dutch 52 

French,  very  courteous  and  talkative  . . 101 

The  happiest  people  in  the  world  . . . 104 

Their  kindness  and  afiabihty  to  strangers  . 101 
Trade  prejudicial  to  England  . . . 170 

Nobleman,  memoirs  of  one  ....  150 
Friendship,  promoted  by  the  Christian  religion  126 
Front  box,  how  the  ladies  are  marshalled 

there 29 

Future  State,  proofs  of  it  from  the  creation  . 27 


Gale,  John,  many  prints  of  him  ...  1 

Gallantry,  precautions  against  it  . . . 123 

Low,  between  a footman  and  a maid-servant  87 
Gamesters,  a panegyric  on  them  . . .74 

Gaming,  ill  consequences  of  that  vice  among 

the  ladies 120 

Gardens,  the  best  not  so  fine  as  nature  . . 173 

Genius,  necessary  to  dre.ss  well  . . .87 

Gentleman,  qualifications  requisite  to  form  that 

exalted  character 34 

Wherein  really  superior  to  a mechanic  . 130 
Gentlemanlike,  gentlemanly,  much  of  a gentle- 
man, ill-applied 38 

Gluttony,  barbarous  and  destructive  . . .61 

Gnatho,  a mad  doctor,  wonderful  cures  perform- 
ed by  him H 

Goldfinch,  a beau,  his  behaviour  to  his  offspring 

proposed  for  imitation  . . . .125 

Good-breeding,  the  necessity  of  it  . . .94 

Good-Friday,  reflections  preparatory  to  the  ob- 
servation of  that  day  - 20 

Good-nature  and  charity  recommended  . . 79 

Gospels,  the  excellency  of  them  . . .21 

Grave-digger  in  Hamlet,  humour  of  that  charac- 
ter . . 144 

Greens,  a curious  collection  to  be  sold  . . 173 

Greek,  two  sorts 78 

Griffins,  a treatise  on  the  existence  of  them  . 60 
Guardian,  the  qualifications  for  one,  integrity 

more  necessary  than  understanding  . . 1 

The  use  of  his  paper 98 


Hamlet,  prologue  therein,  as  spoken  by  Mr. 

William  Peer 82 

Happiness,  various  notions  of  it,  and  wherein  it 

consists  ....  . . 31 

With  respect  to  marriage  . . . .31 

Haw’thorn,  Nic.  his  whimsical  letter  concerning 

public  spirit 58- 

Hearty,  sir  William,  why  he  was  not  a fine 

gentleman 34 

Henry  VII.  criticism  on  the  style  of  Lord  Veru- 
lams’s  Histoiy  of  that  king  . . .25 

Henry  IV.  of  France,  a prayer  made  by  him 


before  a battle  . ....  19 

Hermaphroditical  habit,  described  . . . 149 

llilaria,  her  madness  and  cure  . . . .11 

History,  rules  for  writing  it  . . . .25 

Of  a Greek  poet 141 

Holiness,  beauty  of  it  . . , . .2 

Holt,  lord  chief  justice,  his  integrity  . . . 95 

Honour,  what 161 

Wherein  commendable,  and  when  to  be  ex- 
ploded, &c. 161 

Described  ...  . . 161 


240 


INDEX. 


No. 

Honour,  temple  of)  can  be  entered  only  through 

that  of  Virtue 161 

Honours,  the  duty  and  interest  of  all  nations  to 

bestow  them  on  merit  . . . .93 

Horse,  described  by  Homer,  Virgil,  Oppian, 

Lucan,  and  Pope 86 

Job’s  description  of  one,  better  than  Homer’s 

or  Virgil’s 86 

Horses,  care  of  them  recommended  . . 6,  61 

Hospitals,  a visit  to  them 79 

For  foundlings,  recommended  . . . 105 

How-d’ye-call,  Susan,  her  petition  . . .64 

Humanity  to  be  extended  to  the  meanest  crea- 
ture   61 

Humour,  the  English  distinguished  by  it  . . 44 

English,  accounted  for  by  sir  William  Temple  144 
Hunting,  a remain  of  Gothic  barbarity  . . 61 

A barbarous  custom  therein  . . . .61 

A poem  in  praise  of  it 125 

Hypocrisy,  rebuked  by  our  Saviour  . . .93 

I AM  that  I am,  reflections  on  that  name  . . 74 

Idle  men,  monsters  in  the  creation  . . . 157 

Idleness,  a great  vice 131 

A means  to  conquer  it 131 

Idolatry,  a sottish  sort  of  worship  . . .88 

Ignorance  and  vice,  taint  the  blood  . . .137 

Immortality  of  the  soul,  arguments  for  it  . 89,  93 

Ingratitude  of  men  to  beasts  . . . .61 

Integrity  in  the  power  of  every  man  . • 1 

Intrigue  between  a wild  young  gentleman  and 

a jilt 

Irish  stuffs,  fine  and  delightful  furniture  . 

Ironside,  Nestor,  esq.  account  of  his  birth  and 

education 

How  related  to  the  BickerstafTs  . 

A piece  of  true  tempered  steele  . 

Engaged  in  search  of  the  philosopher’s  stone  166 
His  intended  charities  when  he  should  dis- 
cover it 166 

Ironside,  Mrs.  Martha,  her  character,  and  love 

of  ancestry 137 

Italian  comedians,  driven  from  Paris  for  offend 
ing  madam  Maintenon 


48 


Janglings,  matrimonial 73 

Jealousy,  its  fatal  effects 37 

Jesus  Christ,  his  conversation  with  two  disciples 

after  his  crucifixion 21 

Jilflirts,  the  occasion  of  our  ill-bred  men  . . 26 

Job,  book  of,  fine  poetical  paintings  therein, 

particularly  of  a horse  ...  86 

Johnson  the  player,  a good  actor  . . .82 

Jonathan,  David’s  lamentation  for  him  . 51 

Joseph,  his  chastity 45 

Judges,  the  advantage  of  continuing  them  during 

good  behaviour 95 

Justice,  the  greatest  of  all  virtues  . . .95 

Kingsland  Hospitallers,  objects  of  charity  . 17 

Kneeling  adorations  by  an  authoress  to  a young 

nobleman 4 

Knowledge,  pursuit  thereof  recommended  to 

youth Ill 

Advantages  attending  it  . . .Ill 

Ladies,  all  women  such 26 

Conveniences  of  their  gaming  . . .174 

Lady’s  woman,  must  have  the  qualifications  of 

a critic  in  poetry 149 

Lais,  history  abuses  her  . . . . . 85 

Lamentation  for  Jonathan,  David's,  its  beauties  51 
Land  interest  and  trade,  support  each  other  . 76 
Largeness  of  mind,  reflections  on  that  disposition  70 
Last  day,  extracts  from  a poem  of  that  name  by 

Dr.  Young  .......  51 

Laudanum,  why  out  of  doors  at  Bath  . . 174 

Laughers,  several  characters  of  them  . . 29 

Laughter,  the  index  of  the  mind  . . .29 


No. 

Laughter,  the  chorus  of  conversation  . . 29 

Law-suits,  methods  of  deciding  them  in  India  . 133 
Learning,  the  natural  source  of  wealth  and 

honour Ill 

Proper  for  women 155 

Leo  II.  his  letter  to  the  Guardian  . . . 124 

Leo  X.  Pope,  his  entertainment  of  the  poets  . 115 
Letter  from  Will.  Bareface  to  Nestor  Ironside  . 38 
From  Nestor  Ironside  to  Sir  Harry  Lizard  . 68 

From  Sir  Thomas  Smith  to  Sir  Francis  Wal- 

singham 7 

From  Alexander  to  Aristotle  . . . .Ill 

From  Nestor  Ironside  to  Pope  Clement  VIII.  149 
From  Tom  Swagger  to  old  Testy  . . . 145 

Letters,  difficulties  which  attended  the  first  in- 
vention of  them 172 

Their  great  use 172 

Lewis  XIV.  renowned  for  inviolably  keeping 

treaties  . 128 

Libertine,  Athenian,  his  moral  soliloquy  . 81 
Prayer  of  an  English  libertine  . . .81 

Liberty  of  the  People,  generosity  of  that  princi- 
ple   2 

Asserted  by  Mr.  Steele 53 

Freethinkers  enemies  thereto  . . .83 

Life,  its  several  stages  have  several  pleasures  . 62 

Lilly,  Charles,  his  petition  . . . .64 

Lingerers,  account  of  them  ....  131 
Lion,  Walsingham’s  master  spy,  some  account 

of  him  71 

To  be  set  up  at  Button’s  coffee-house  94, 114,  124 

Scandalous  reports  of  him  . . . .134 

History  of  his  species 139 

Calculation  of  his  nativity  ....  140 

Sir  George  Davis’s  lion 146 

Lions,  spies  so  called,  infesting  London,  des- 

scribed 146 

Liquors,  no  bribery  in  them  ....  160 

Little  men,  a club  of  them  . . . .91 

Lizard,  sir  Ambrose,  chooses  Mr.  Ironside  guar- 
dian to  his  family 2 

Sir  Harry,  his  character  ....  6 

Lady,  her  character,  and  manner  of  employ- 
ing her  time 2,  5,  7 

Characters  of  Miss  Jane,  Miss  Annabella,  IMiss 
Betty,  Miss  Cornelia,  and  Miss  Mary  . 7 

Characters  of  Mr.  Thomas,  Mr.  William,  and 

Mr.  John 13 

Loan-bank,  a project 97,  107 

Lock  Hospital,  patients  there,  great  objects  of 
charity  . . . . . • .17 

Oblations  of  a chamber-maid  thereto  . .26 

Longbottom,  John,  the  barber,  his  petition  . 64 
Longinus,  his  best  rule  for  the  sublime  . . 152 

Longitude,  proposals  concerning  the  discovery 

ofit  .......  108 

Love  of  enemies,  not  constitutional  . . .20 

Love,  personated  by  Ambition  and  Avarice  . 152 

In  low  life • 

Loungers,  a sect  of  philosophers  at  Cambridge  124 
Lucan,  translation  of  his  verses  on  the  transmi- 
gration of  souls 18 

Lucan,  Strada’s,  commended  . . . .115 

Lucas,  Dr.  his  Practical  Christianity  recom- 
mended   63 

Lucifer,  his  description  of  a masquerade  at  the 

French  ambassador’s 154 

Lucretius,  Strada’s 115,119 

Luke,  saint,  contents  of  the  twenty-fourth  chap- 
ter of  his  gospel 21 

Lust,  opposed  to  Modesty 162 

Lycurgus,  the  character  of  a good  master  . 87 

The  Spartan,  his  good  laws  concerning  matri- 
mony   ^60 

Lyrics,  the  English,  very  fine  ....  124 

Machines,  modern  free-thinkers  a.re  such  .130 
Mad  doctor,  account  of  one,  and  his  medicines  11 
Maid’s  tragedy,  Mr.  Waller’s  saying  of  it . . 37 


INDEX. 


241 


No. 

Maintenon,  madam,  her  birth,  education,  for- 
tune, and  character 46 

Married  to  Scaron 47 

Her  power  over  and  marriage  to  Lewis  XIV.  48 
Mankind,  ranged  under  the  active  and  specula- 
tive   1.30 

Mantua-makers,  should  be  expert  anatomists  . 149 
Marlborough,  duke  of,  insulted  by  the  E.xaminer  80 
Marriage,  the  arts  of  parents  in  it  . . 57,  73 

danglings 73 

What  often  occasions  unhappiness  therein  . 113 
Extravagant  expenses  after  entering  into  it 

censured 147 

Martial,  his  verses  on  a country  seat  . . 173 

Masquerades,  account  of  them  . . . 142,  154 

Master,  how  he  should  behave  to  his  servants  . 87 
The  efficacy  of  his  example  . . ,165 

Mechanics,  of  general  importance  ...  1 

In  what  really  inferior  to  gentlemen  . . 130 

Medals,  modern,  an  error  in  distributing  them  . 93 
Proposal  for  making  them  more  general  and 

useful,  by  Dr.  Swift 93 

Struck  in  France,  on  abolishing  duels  . . 129 

Meekness,  something  sublime  and  heroic  in  it  . 20 
Melancholy,  Pills  to  Purge,  a collection  of  songs 

so  called  - 67 

Melissa  and  Polydore,  their  story  . . 85 

Memoirs  of  the  discovery  of  a French  noble- 
man’s children 150 

Memorial  from  Dunkirk,  answered  . . . 128 

Merchants,  of  great  benefit  to  the  public  . . 79 

Metamorphoses,  of  men  into  lower  ranks  of 

being 56 

Milton’s  description  of  Eve’s  treating  an  angel  138 
Milliners,  general  remarks  on  them  . . .138 

Mind,  strength  of,  its  true  happiness  . . .31 

Human,  restless  after  happiness  . . .83 

Principle  of  attraction  therein  . . 126 

Misers,  observations  on  them  . . . .77 

Act  on  the  same  principles  as  critics  . . 77 

Not  happy  in  their  riches  ...  83 

Misochirosophus,  Johannes,  his  humorous  letter 

concerning  button  orators  ....  84 
Mistress  of  a family,  a good  one  described,  from 

the  book  of  Proverbs 168 

Moderate  man,  an  ode  by  Mr.D’Urfey,  commend- 
ed   67 

Modesty,  bestows  greater  beauties  than  the 

bloom  of  youth 100 

Opposed  to  lust  . . . . 152 

Lost  among  the  ordinary  part  of  the  world  . 87 
Modesty  pieces  laid  aside  . . . .118 

A modesty  piece  lost  at  a masquerade  . . 145 

Mole-hill,  a lively  image  of  the  earth  . . 153 

Moliere,  his  observation  of  maldng  a dinner  . 78 
Molly,  the  barber’s  daughter,  her  history  . . 159 

Moralists,  quaint,  a saying  of  theirs  . . .136 

More,  Sir  Thomas,  his  poem  on  the  choice  of  a 

wife 163 

Morning  prayer,  recommended  . . 65 

Mortality,  bill  of,  out  of  the  country  . . . 136 

Moschus,  remarks  on  his  Greek  pastorals  . . 28 

Mother,  character  of  a good  one  . . 150 

Motteux,  Peter,  an  unicorn’s  head  to  be  erect 

ed  there 114 

Mountespan,  madam,  recommended  madam 
Maintenon  to  Lewis  XIV.  . . .47 

Mum,  Ned,  his  letter  concerning  the  Silent  Club  121 
Mila,  daughter  of  Pythagoras,  account  of  her 
and  her  works 165 

Natural  history,  a diverting  and  improving 

study 160 

Natural  pleasures,  what  they  are  . . .49 

Nature,  the  contemplation  of  it  exalts  the  spirits  169 

Imitated  by  Art 103 

Necks  of  women  immodestly  exposed 

100,  109,  118, 121 

Netherlands,  their  advantages  over  the  French  52 
2H 


No. 

Nomenclalors,  who 107 

Norwood,  John,  pendve-maker,  his  petition  . 64 
Nottingham,  earl  of,  and  his  daughter,  defended 
against  the  insults  of  the  Examiner  . . 41 


Oddities,  the  English  famous  for  them 
Oedipus,  faults  in  that  tragedy  . 

Oger,  Sir  William,  his  manner  of  courtship 
Old  ' 


144 
110 
5 

d people,  remember  past  times  best  . . 6 

Old  men,  of  Gray’s  Inn,  account  of  them  . . 44 

Operators,  cephalic,  their  petition  . . .64 

Oppian,  his  description  of  a war-horse  . . 86 

Oratory,  an  odd  kind  of  it  condemned  . . 84 

Othello,  beauties  and  defects  in  that  tragedy  . 37 
Ovid,  quotation  from  him,  about  humanity  to 

animals 61 

Strada’s 122 

Painting,  in  Poetry,  what  it  is  . . . .86 

Palaces,  of  the  French  king,  described  . . 101 

Pandemonium,  of  Milton,  proposed  to  be  repre- 
sented in  fire- works 102 

Pandolph,  Sir  Harry,  his  manner  of  courtship  . 5 

His  manner  of  telling  a story  . . .42 

Parents,  generally  err  in  marrying  their  children  57 
Too  careful  and  mercenary  in  disposing  of 

their  children 57 

Paschal,  Mr.  his  observations  on  Cromwell’s 

death .136 

Passions,  disasters  attending  irregular  passions  . 8 

Pastoral  life,  at  the  first  period  of  the  world,  its 

felicity 22 

Qualities  thereof *23 

Poetry 40 

Criticisms  thereon  ....  23,  40 

Rules  for  writing  it 30 

Poetry,  explained  by  an  allegory  . . .32 

English,  characterised  ...  14,  28,  30 

French,  wherein  faulty 28 

Of  Sanazarius,  condemned  . . . .28 

Patch,  parson,  why  so  called  . . . .116 

Patience,  opposed  to  scorn . . . . . 152 

Peace  proclaimed,  and  prayers  on  that  occasion  80 
Pedants,  their  veneration  for  Greek  and  Latin 

condemned 90 

Pedigrees,  the  vanity  of  them  ridiculed  . .137 

Peer,  Mr.  William,  his  character  and  excellen- 
cies   82 

Broke  his  heart  for  growing  fat  . . . 82 

Peripatetics  of  Gray’s  Inn 44 

Persian  Sultan,  an  instance  of  the  justice  of  one  95 
Peruke,  a kind  of  index  to  the  mind  . . . 149 

Petticoat,  great,  the  grievance  thereof  . .114 

Phenomena  of  nature,  imitated  by  art  . . 103 

Pharisees,  for  wdiat  blamed  by  Christ  . . 93 

Philantus,  and  his  cockle  shells  affionted  . . 92 

Philips,  Ambrose,  his  excellence  in  pastoral 

poetry . 30, 32 

Philogram,  his  letter  on  speech  and  letters  . 172 
Philosopher,  self  taught,  Arabian  notion  of  such 

a one 61 

Philosopher’s  stone,  Mr.  Ironside’s  search  after  it  166 
Physicians,  never  take  physic  . . . .174 

Physico-Theology,  by  Dr.Derham,  recommended  175 
Piets,  women  untuckered,  advised  to  imitate 

them 140 

Pidgeon,  Bat,  the  hair-cutter,  recommended  1,  43 

His  petition 64 

Pilpay,  his  fable  on  the  cruel  usage  of  animals  61 
Pindar,  compared  with  Tom  D’Urfey  • . 67 

Pineal  gland  in  the  brain,  discovered  by  Des 

Cartes 35 

Voyage  through  several .....  35 
Pismires,  nations  of  them  described  . . . 153 

Plain,  Tom,  his  letter  complaining  of  great  hoop 

petticoats 114 

Plato,  his  opinion  of  a future  state  . . .27 

His  answer  to  a scandalous  report  of  him  85 
What  he  said  of  censure  . . 35 

21 


242  INDEX. 


No. 

Players,  robbed  in  their  journey  to  Oxford  . 91 
Pleasure,  men  of,  wherein  miserable  . . 35 

Variety  of,  prepared  for  the  different  stages  of 

life 63 

Fantastical 49 

Natural,  what 49 

Sensual,  the  lowest  . . . . .62 

Not  to  be  exclaimed  against  in  reclaiming  of 

youth 127 

Plotting  Sisters,  that  play  honoured  by  the  pre- 
sence of  Charles  the  Second  . . .82 

Plutarch,  examples  of  his  good  nature  . . 61 

Poet,  history  of  an  ancient  Greek  . . .141 

Poets  tragic,  errors  committed  by  them  . .110 

Poetry,  sacred 51 

Compared  with  dress 149 

Different  styles  required  for  the  different  kinds 

of  it  149 

Polydore  and  Melissa,  their  story  . . .85 

Poor,  mostly  provided  for  by  the  middle  kind  of 

people 79 

Pope,  his  pastorals  compared  with  those  of  Phi- 
lips '.  40 

His  description  of  a war-horse  , . .86 

Popes,  the  Leos  the  best,  and  Innocents  the  worst  141 
Poppy,  Ned,  the  story-teller,  described  . . 24 

Possession,  true,  consists  in  enjoyment  . . 42 

Posterity,  the  regard  we  should  have  thereto  . 138 
Posture-master,  his  frolics  about  clothes  . .102 

Pounce,  Hugh,  the  iron  poet  his  petition  . . 64 

Practical  Christianity,  by  Dr.  Lucas,  a specimen 

of  that  work 63 

Praise,  grateful  to  human  nature  . . . 135 

Prayer,  of  a gentleman  of  fashion  . . .81 

Made  by  Henry  IV.  of  France,  before  a battle  19 

Common,  of  the  Church  of  England,  its  excel- 
lency   .65 

Prejudice,  allegorically  described  . . .39 

Pretty  gentleman,  described  . . . .38 

Priest,  the  respect  to  that  title  ....  130 
Prim,  Ruth,  her  advice  to  Nestor  Ironside  . 132 

Prior,  Matthew,  some  pretty  verses  of  his  . 54 

His  character  of  perfect  beauty  . . .85 

Prolusions  of  Strada  on  the  style  of  poets 

112,115,  122 

Property-man  at  the  play-house,  his  office  . 82 

At  the  play,  robbed 95 

Proteus  compared  to  Death  . . . .136 

Proverbs,  when  the  use  of  them  is  insupport- 
able   .24 

Concerning  a good  mistress  of  a family  168 

Providence,  a remarkable  instance  of  its  interpo- 
sition   117 

Psalm  137,  translated  by  Sir  Philip  Sidney  18 
Prudes,  how  they  should  paint  themselves  . 140 

Public  spirit  in  Cato  ....  ‘ . 33 

Humorous  mistakes  concerning  it  . . 58 

Punning,  an  apology  for  it 36 

Purville,  Mr.  the  Property-man,  account  of  his 

being  robbed 95 

Puzzle,  Peter,  his  dream 106 

Pythagoras,  his  learning,  and  that  of  his  family  165 
His  invention  of  the  foundation  of  British 
commerce 130 

Queries,  concerning  matrimony  . . .57 

Race-Horses,  cruel  to  put  them  to  their  utmost 
speed  for  diversion  only  ....  6 

Rakes,  in  love  not  so  bad  as  gallant  men  . . 17 

Characterised 131 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  his  saying  of  Walsingham  71 
Raphael,  the  beauties  of  his  picture  of  our  Sa- 
viour appearing  to  his  disciples  . . .19 

Reading,  how  abused 60 

Recipe  for  making  an  Epic  poem  . . .78 

Recluse,  idleness  exposed 131 

Reformation  of  manners,  a project  for  that  pur- 
pose . . - . 107 


No. 

Religion,  inquiries  into  it,  urged  . . 75 

Renown,  women  of,  instances  of  them  . .11 

Repartee  a quick  one  in  parhament  . .137 

Reproof  distinguished  from  reproach  . . 56 

Revenge,  the  wickedness  of  it  . . . .20 

A remarkable  instance  of  it  . . . .8 

Rich  men,  what  Diogenes  said  of  them  . . 91 

Riding-dress,  why  called  Pindaric  . . . 149 

Ring  wood,  Esau,  his  memorial,  in  behalf  of 

hunters 64 

Jack,  his  temple  education  described.  . . 151 

His  milliner’s  and  shoemaker’s  bills  . . 151 

Roarings  of  Button’s  lion 121 

Rochester,  bishop  of,  his  definition  of  wit  . 141 

Roscommon,  earl  of,  his  rule  for  translating  . 164 

Rowley,  Mr.  his  proposal  for  new'  globes  . . 1 

Rural  life,  what  destroyed  the  tranquillity  of  it 
amongst  the  first  race  of  men  . . .22 

Rustysides,  his  letter  on  masquerades  . . 142 

Sacred  poetry,  pleasant  and  beneficial  . . 51 

Sackville,  lord  Edward,  his  answer  to  Lord 

Bruce’s  challenge 129 

Account  of  his  combat  with  lord  Bmce  . 133 
Sadducees,  may  be  called  Freethinkers  among 

the  Jews 93 

Sanazarius,  his  pastorals,  condemned  . . 28 


Santon,  Barsisa,  his  history  from  the  Turkish 

Tales • 

Scandal,  a vice  the  fair  sex  too  easily  give  in  to  85 
Scaron,  account  of  his  marriage  with  madam 


Maintenon 47 

Schacabac,  the  Persian,  an  instance  of  his  com- 
plaisance   163 

Schools,  the  pleasure  of  them  . . . .62 

Scorn  oppos^  to  patience  ....  152 
Scriptures,  the  belief  of  them  considered  . 75 
Segonia,  John  de,  account  of  his  combat  with 

his  brother 104 

Servants,  the  duty  of  masters  towards  them  . 85 
Sexes,  the  comparative  perfections  of  them  . 152 
At  war,  reconciled  by  Virtue  and  Love  . 152 
Shame,  fear  of  it,  overcomes  tenderness  . . 105 

Public,  the  use  of  it 92 

Shepherd,  true  character  of  one  in  Pastorals  . 23 
Short  Club,  account  of  it  . . . 91,92 

Sickness,  the  effects  it  has  on  the  mind  . .132 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  a psalm  translated  by  him  18 

Silvio,  his  bill  of  costs  in  courting  Zelinda  . 94 

Similes,  difficult  to  succeed  in  them  . . 64 

Sleep,  shows  the  divinity  of  the  human  soul  . 93 

Sloth  more  invincible  than  vice  . . .131 

Small-coalman,  his  musical  talent  . . . 144 

Smooth,  Arthur,  his  letter  about  his  wife,  who  is 

very  seldom  angry 73 

Sneezing,  a treatise  thereon  . . . .60 

Snow,  artificial,  before  the  French  king  . . 103 

Snuff,  philosophical,  the  use  of  it  . . . 35 

Socrates,  his  remarks  on  philosophy  . . .70 

Contemned  censure  . . . • .135 

Softly,  Simon,  ill  used  by  a widow  . . .93 

Soldiers,  Christian,  vigilance  recommended  to 

them .18 

Moved  at  the  distress  in  a tragedy  . 19 

Soliloquy  of  an  Athenian  libertine  . . .18 

Solomon,  his  choice  of  wisdom  . . .Ill 

Somersetshire  pastoral  ballad  . . . .40 

Song,  by  a lady  who  loved  an  ugly  man  . .16 

Writing,  a criticism  thereon  . . . .16 

Sophia  refuses  a present  of  jewels  on  her  mar- 
riage ...  ....  147 

Soul,  discovery  of  the  seat  of  it,  by  Des  Cartes  35 

Sympathy  of 150 

South,  Dr.  extract  from  his  discourse  on  a good 

conscience 135 

Sparkler,  her  letter  about  the  character  of  Lucia 
and  Marcia,  in  Cato  . ...  43 

Speculative  part  of  mankind,  compared  with  the 
active  . . ....  130 


INDEX. 


243 


No. 

Speech,  a discourse  thereon  ....  172 
Spies,  the  use  secretary  Walsingham  made  of 

them 71 

Spleen,  the  Dutch  not  subject  to  it  . . .131 

Spring,  the  beauties  of  that  season  described  . 125 

Verses  thereon 125 

Called  the  youth  and  health  of  the  year  . 125 

Squires,  country,  ignorant  of  nature  . . . 169 

Stage,  an  instance  of  its  force  in  reforming  the 

world 43 

Statius,  Strada’s 122 

Steele,  Mr.  his  letters  against  the  Examiner  53,  63 
His  letters  about  Dunkirk  ....  168 
Stomachers  for  beaux  . ...  171 

Story-tellers,  censured  for  ridiculous  punctuality  42 

Story-telling,  not  an  art,  but  a knack  . . .42 

Rules  for  it 24,  42 

Strada,  his  excellent  prolusions  . . 115, 119, 122 

Sublime,  Longinus,  his  best  rule  for  it  . . 152 

Boileau’s  notes  on  it 117 

Sullen  husbands  complained  of  . . . 132 

Swagger,  Tom,  his  letter  to  Old  Testy  . . 145 

Affi-onted 171 

Swords,  the  immoderate  length  of  them  con- 
demned   143,  145 

Sympathy  of  souls 151 

Tale-Tellers,  hired  to  lull  people  asleep  in 
Ireland  . . . ... . . .42 

Tall  Club,  an  account  of  it  ’.  . . .108 

Temple  education,  account  of  it  . . . 151 

Temple,  sir  William,  his  account  of  English  hu- 
mour   87 

His  remarks  on  the  gardens  of  Alcinous  . 173 
His  character  of  the  Dutch  . . 131 

Teraminta,  angry  about  the  tucker  . . . 109 

Like  a wag-tail 125 

Terrse-filius,  at  Oxford,  reflections  on  him  . 72 
Terrible  Club,  account  of  it  . . . .143 

Terror,  Andrew,  the  Mohock,  a cure  wrought 

on  him 11 

Theano,  the  wife  of  Pythagoras,  taught  philoso- 
phy   165 

Theocritus’s  Idyls,  compared  with  Virgil’s 

Eclogues  . . . . . . .28 

Theodosius,  the  emperor,  married  to  Athenais,  a 

Grecian  virgin 155 

Thrift,  Generosity,  his  letter  about  the  French 

trade 170 

Tillotson,  extract  from  his  discourse  concerning 
the  danger  of  all  knowing  sin  . . . 21 

Time  not  to  be  squandered  ....  188 
Timogenes,  a man  of  false  honour  . . .161 

Timoleon,  the  Corinthian,  his  piety  and  remark- 
able preservation 117 

Tiptoe,  Tom,  a gallant  member  of  the  short  club  92 
Topknot,  Dr.  why  so  called  . . . .116 

Tory,  English,  his  letters  about  demolishing  Dun- 
kirk   128,131 

Trade  its  interest  the  same  with  that  of  land  . 76 
With  France,  prejudicial  to  England  . . 170 

Tragedy- writers,  wherein  notoriously  defective  110 
Translation,  lord  Roscommon’s  rules  for  it  . 164 
The  best  means  of  refining  and  pohshing  a 

language 164 

Treatise  recommended  as  useful  towards  the 
improvement  of  the  world  . . .43 

Tremble,  Tom,  the  quaker,  his  letter  on  naked 

breasts 116 

Truelove,  Tom,  the  character  of  a good  husband  113 
Tuck,  Tim,  the  hero  of  the  short  club  . . 92 

Tucker,  remarks  on  the  ladies  laying  it  aside, 

18,  26,  33,  36,  48,  52,  56 
Tugghe,  Sieur,  of  Dunkirk,  his  impudence  . 28 
Turks  their  humanity  to  animals  . . .61 

Tutors,  ill  used  and  ill  paid  . . .90 

Ulysses,  Cosmo polita,  his  letter  on  the  pineal 

gland  in  the  brain  . . .35 


No. 

Urnbra,  her  letter  on  public  shame  . . 95 

United  Provinces,  advantages  they  enjoyed  over 

the  French 52 

Universities,  the  foundation  of  them  owing  to 

religion 62 

Designed  to  teach  refined  luxury  and  enjoy- 
ments   62 

University  education,  its  errors  . . .94 

Vanity  of  mankind,  to  make  themselves  known  1,  2 
Variety,  the  nature  and  sweets  of  it  . . . 138 

Versailles  described 101 

Verses  to  Mrs.  Annabella  Lizard  ~ . . .15 

From  Juvenal  and  Ovid,  translated  by  Dryden 

54,61 

From  the  French 16 

On  the  uncertainty  of  happiness,  by  Shak- 

speare 54 

By  Dryden  and  Prior 54 

From  Juvenal 54 

From  Young’s  poem  on  the  last  day  . . 51 

From  Ovid,  translated  by  Dryden  . . .61 

An  essay  on  the  different  styles  of  poetry  . 35 

From  lord  Rochester 50 

On  the  transmigration  of  souls  . . .18 

Describing  the  garden  of  Alcinous  . . 173 

From  Anacreon 168 

Out  of  Claudian 164 

From  Congreve 85,  115 

From  Eusden’s  translation  of  the  Rape  of 

Proserpine 164 

Eve  treating  an  angel,  described  from  Mil- 

ton  .ft, . 138 

On  gardening 173 

By  Prior,  Congreve,  and  Addison  . . 84,  115 

Description  of  a horse 80 

From  a manuscript  on  hunting  . . . 125 

From  Martial  ......  173 

From  Racine’s  Athalia  . . • . .117 

Describing  the  spring 128 

Concerning  translation,  by  lord  Roscommon  . 164 
The  court  of  Venus  from  Claudian  . . 127 

From  Virgil,  translated  by  Dryden  . . 138 

On  wdt  and  wisdom 141 

On  the  art  of  writing,  by  a lady  . . . 172 

Verulam,  lord,  his  writings  a glory  to  the  English 

nation 25 

Criticism  on  the  style  of  his  History  of  Henry 

the  seventh 25 

Vice,  observations  on  the  great  vices  . . 19 

Of  people  of  quality,  not  to  be  taxed  . . 26 

Virgil,  his  eclogues  compared  with  Theocritus’s 

Idyls 28 

Remarks  on  his  praise  of  Augustus  . .138 

Strada’s,  commended  . . .115,  119,  122 

Virtue,  its  interests  supplanted  by  common  cus- 
tom   57 

Christian,  recommended  . . 20, 55, 79 

Misrepresented  by  Free-thinkers  . . .79 

Vision  of  Xenophon Ill 

Voluptuary,  the  misery  of  one  described  . . 35 

Wag-Tails,  their  way  of  courting  . . . 125 

Walsingham,  sir  Francis,  his  lions,  who  . . 71 

His  letter  concerning  Queen  Elizabeth’s  mar- 
riage with  the  French  king’s  brother  . . 7 

Wanderer  in  reading 60 

Ward,  Mr.  John,  of  Chester,  his  vanity  . . 1 

Wealth,  insolent,  with  respect  to  women  . . 45 

Weather,  fine  the  pleasure  it  occasions  . . 125 

Wedding-clothes,  the  vanity  of  them  exposed  . 113 
Wenefrcde,  St.  a doubtful  person  . . .91 

Whiston,  Mr.  his  letter  on  the  longitude  . . 108 

White,  Thomas,  his  letter  to  Nestor  Ironside, 
concerning  the  philosopher’s  stone  . . 167 

Whoring  precautions  against  it  . .17 

Instance  of  a gentleman  reclaimed  from  it  . 17 
Wife,  sir  Thomas  More’s  direction  for  the  choice 
of  one  . 164 


244  INDEX. 


No. 

William  the  Third,  king,  his  saying  of  Lewis 
the  Fourteenth,  and  madam  Maintenon  . 48 
Wilkins,  bishop,  his  art  of  flying  . . .112 

Wisdom  opposed  to  cunning  . . . .163 

Solomon’s  choice  of  it  . . . . .112 

Wiseacre,  squire,  the  cause  of  his  ruin  . . 147 

Wise  men,  to  think  with  them,  but  talk  with  the 

vulgar 24 

Wit,  defined,  by  the  bishop  of  Rochester  . .141 

Women,  the  villany  of  deluding  them  exposed  17 
Vanity  of  the  compliments  paid  them  by  fops  26 
Their  vices  not  to  be  taxed  . . . .26 

None  in  the  world 26 

Generally  married  too  young  ...  7 


No. 

Women  should  have  learmng  . ’ 155 

Wisdom  and  knowledge  recommended  to  their 
study  ....  155,159,165 

Worship,  public,  indecencies  committed  at  it  . 65 
Wounds,  most  dangerous  on  a full  stomach  . 133 
Writing,  verses  on  that  art,  by  a young  lady  . 171 

Xenophon,  his  account  of  the  vision  of  Hercules  111 

Yorkshire  gentleman,  his  diet  at  Paris  . . 34 

Zeal,  the  use  politicians  make  of  it  . .39 

Zelinda,  her  generosity  to  Sylvio  . 97 


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